


Issues

by Kaelas, yamikuronue



Series: Real Hotheads of Kirkwall [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autism Spectrum, BDSM, Bad Templars (Dragon Age), Cybernetics, Fantastic Racism, Isolation, M/M, Medical Trauma, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, Twincest, Uncle Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras Is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 130,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelas/pseuds/Kaelas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamikuronue/pseuds/yamikuronue
Summary: Sex is back on the table for Garrett Hawke, and he couldn't be happier. He never thought he'd be the submissive in a BDSM relationship, let alone subbing for "Uncle Varric". But it works for them, and he loves every minute he spends with his damaged Dwarven paramour. When he stumbles across a secret that was never meant to be known, however, it's only the beginning of the issues he and his lover will face together in this direct sequel to New Rules.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke, Hawke/Varric Tethras, male hawke/Leliana
Series: Real Hotheads of Kirkwall [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1316675
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I went radio silent for so long; I got ill (thankfully not with Corona!) and have been swamped catching up on work and church stuff I missed while I was sick. We'll be uploading Thorns and Issues concurrently, matching chapters up so you won't accidentally spoiler yourself. If you're coming here from the future, hello, you didn't miss anything by reading Thorns first, we just wanted those fans who are experiencing this in real-time (so to speak) to have an additional experience. I hope that's not confusing! Please subscribe to both fics! 
> 
> Chapter Content note: Sex, incest.

_Yeah, I got issues_

_And one of them is how bad I need you_

Sex is back on the menu, and Garrett Hawke has never been happier in his life.

It's been a long spring and summer. He's kicked his drug habits, broken up with his manipulative ex-boyfriend, gotten arrested by Templar, almost been killed many times, and ended up with a persistent limp that he's really hoping will go away on its own. But on the other hand, he's got Varric. _Totally worth it_ , he decides, grinning like a mad fool as he lets himself into his childhood home.

It's Saturday, the first Saturday in August, and that means the twins will be home tomorrow. Technically, Garrett's a twin too, but in practical terms, 'the twins' means Beth and Carver, his younger siblings. Their trimesters run from mid-September to mid-June, but they spend July at sleepaway camp every year— some theatre camp for Beth and some sports thing for Carver— so they haven't really been part of Garrett's life recently. He's looking forward to seeing them again, though it will be difficult to explain his new living arrangements.

That's not why he's home, of course. He has a whole 'nother day before they arrive. No, today's unannounced trip is something else important: the rest of his sex toys. He'd previously brought only condoms and lube, given Varric's reluctance to have sex, but now that they're fucking he wants the rest of his shit. _I can't wait to show Varric my favorite cockring_ , he thinks, smirking like a fool. _Damn, but I'm in love._

_Better stop in and say hi to Mother_ , he thinks, as he heads for the hallway with the bedrooms. _It looks like they're done fumigating; she's probably having a nap in her room. I wonder where Dad is? I didn't see his Bentley in the garage, so he must be working. He's working a lot lately, I wonder if he's getting enough rest? Maybe I should call him later_. Preoccupied, Garrett doesn't bother knocking, just pushes open his mother's bedroom door.

This is the biggest mistake of his life.

Garrett freezes in the doorway, stunned by the tableau ahead of him. He diverts his eyes immediately upward, off his mother's naked breasts, her rapturous face that he can't not recognize even with the ballgag in place. That unfortunately means he meets his uncle Gamlen's eyes, mid-thrust.

Garrett takes two rapid steps backward, slams the door shut, and bolts for his bedroom. _What the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?_

Behind him, there's a shout— his uncle— a pause, then a muffled shriek from his mother. Maybe he should run further than his bedroom? Maybe his sister was right, Antarctica sounds great right about now. Before he can come up with a better plan than sitting on his bed trying not to vomit or blizzard the room, there's a knock on his door. Then a pause.

"Garrett?" His uncle, sounding uncertain and a bit panicked.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ He grabs his phone, whipping out a quick text: [Situation. Stand by].

Then he takes a deep breath and opens the bedroom door.

Gamlen offers a weak smile, then tightens his bathrobe despite it being perfectly fine. "Ah, good. Was you. Ah. You mind if I— Could I— Hall's a bit, ah, open."

Garrett steps aside, wordlessly ushering Gamlen into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Gamlen scurries in, then fidgets a little. He clears his throat, gaze darting around the room but never going near Garrett's face. "So, ah, Sorry you, ah, had to see that. I, uh, well." He licks his lips. "I'd take it as a kindness if you didn't mention it to your parents." _Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait._

"How do I not mention to my mother that you were fucking her brains out?!" he stammers. "Maker, dad's going to be pissed!"

"Your mother?" Gamlen lets out a nervous laugh. "Oh, yeah, I guess there's a bit of resemblance, sure. But she's my sister, that's crazy talk!" _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

" _I know my own Mother's face_ ," snarls Garrett. "I'm not an idiot!"

Gamlen laughs again, shuffling his feet in place. "Garrett... nephew... that's— that's dangerous talk. That could _ruin_ a lot of lives," he says awkwardly. "It was just some lady I picked up at a bar. Let it go."

_That could ruin a lot of— Maker, if the Templar caught wind—_ Garrett swallows, then swallows again. He takes a step forward, sitting down hard on the bed. "Right. I uh. I didn't see nothing," he says quickly. "I just came to get my things."

"Good, good," Gamlen says quickly. "Why don't I... go see my lady friend out and get dressed. Give you a hand carrying your, uh, whatever out, yeah?"

"Wait— does Dad know?" Garrett blurts, looking up at Gamlen's face.

His uncle's eyes are still averted, but that doesn't stop him from seeing the wince. "Course your dad knows about my, ah, wild and carefree ways. Never shuts up about them," he adds in a bitter mutter.

"What about my mother's ways? My mom is _cheating_ , does Dad know?! Tell me this is some kind of, of kinky triad thing?"

Gamlen makes a disgusted face at the mention. "Garrett, I know this was a shock, but you'll speak of your mother with respect," he snaps back at the younger man. "And I don't appreciate you nosing around my business either. I've been open about this because— well, wasn't really a mistake on my part, you just walked right on in so this is on you. But I put all that to rest, now let it go."

"How do you expect me to look her in the eye knowing this?!" he demands. "I don't want anything to happen to my family any more than you do, but this is—! This is too much!"

"Garrett, nephew... take a deep breath." Gamlen nods a little, as if offering encouragement. "It's not your problem. Who I dally with, isn't your problem. Just," he spreads his hands in a smooth sweep, "let it go. Forget it happened. Go on about your day. Hit up a bar and relax."

"A bar. Maker, yes. That sounds excellent." He grabs the duffel bag from his closet, not bothering to look through anything else he might want to grab. "I'll be back tomorrow for dinner."

"Good, good. Been a while since we had a family meal." _Andraste's cunt, Lea's going to be furious. I really thought he'd buy that._

Garrett shoots him a withering look. "The twins will be home. Make sure you're a bit more discreet while they're in the house."

Gamlen coughs. "Right. Be sure to take my, ah, bar finds to my flat in town. Of course. Some girls are impressed by the tour, you know?" He coughs again. "Anyway. You best be off, I'm sure you have plans. Or whatever."

_Plans to see if I can erase my memory with enough vodka or some Blood Magic, yes. Maker_. "Tell Dad I took the Audi," he says, as he moves past Gamlen to the door.

"Sure, sure," Gamlen says, having no such intentions. _Wonder if I can convince Lea to pick back up when he leaves? Damn hard on a man, having to stop part way._

* * *

If there's anything shy of getting blackout drunk — definitely Not Allowed, according to his rules — that can ease Garrett's nerves, it's driving a fast car with the top down. Garrett gets behind the wheel and does his best to let the mental images melt away; his license is still suspended, but he doesn't care, speeding up the mountain and letting the wind ruffle his hair. _It's really getting long_ , some part of him notes, detached from the rest of him.

And then his phone rings. Once, before it answers itself. "You're moving too fast to answer your phone safely," Varric says without a greeting. "What's wrong?"

"Not now, Varric," he sighs. _I don't want to think about it. I just want to drive._

"I'm asking _now_ so yes _now_ ," his Dom says softly.

_Damn. Overruled_ , Garrett thinks with a sigh— and a small smile. "I saw something I shouldn't have. Hey, does blood magic work on yourself? Any chance I can forget what I saw?"

"What—" Varric cuts off. "Please tell you said that while alone?"

"I'm joking," he says quickly. "And yes, I'm in the car. Alone. I took the Audi back."

"Good." A pause. "Don't do that, you scared the hell out of me." Another pause. "What did you even see?" _He was at home so..._ "Walk in on your mother changing or somethi— Garrett?"

Garrett doesn't answer for a moment, concerned as he is with jerking the car back onto the road properly. When he's settled, back in his lane and well away from the thin metal railing separating the road from the cliff, he growls, "Worse."

_Worse?_ His mind quickly supplies options, possibilities: _Shitting, masturbating, grooming, fucking (but she's not with Mal so?)_ "Did she notice you?" he asks hesitantly.

"Oh, she fucking _noticed_ alright," he snarls. "Dammit, my mother's cheating on my father!"

"Oh. Ah." Varric clears his throat. "You..." He trails off, searching for the right words. "Look, finish your drive and come home. This needs to be done in person. I'll order food for us." _Hopefully Mal doesn't press too hard about why he needs to drop everything and come over._

_"You know something about my mother and her lover?"_ demands Garrett, in a snarl.

"In person Garrett. Please."

"Dammit," he growls. "Fine. Now piss off and let me finish my drive."

"Thank you," Varric says softly. "Be safe." With that, the phone clicks off. _Well, that's... just fucking great. Mal, you better be free._ Taking a deep breath, he calls Mal right away.

* * *

Malcolm sighs, sliding off his suitcase— _I'm going to have to leave some of the new shoes behind after all, damn_ — to grab his phone, left on the dresser. His apartment is coming along nicely: a bedroom set, premium sheets, a kitchenette, a full-size fridge, all tucked into two rooms on the top floor of Amell Inc's global headquarters, behind locks keyed to only accept his personal thumbprint and passcode. _Home sweet home. Or should that be, home suite home?_ he wonders, as he glances at the caller ID.

_Varric..?_ A surge of fear spikes in his gut. It's irrational, he knows. There's no reason to think something's happened. Varric might just be calling to chat. But he can't help but recall the one time it was Garrett, the one time his son was kidnapped by Templar and his best friend— _Garrett's boyfriend, and how strange is that?_ — had to tell him what had happened.

"Varric? What's the word?" he asks, showing remarkable restraint in keeping his tone even. _Restraint. That's all my life is anymore: restraint and appearances._

"The word is dinner. By which I mean, you're coming over for dinner. Nowish or earlier." Varric doesn't sound panicked or angry, which is a good sign. More tired, maybe a touch upset.

"Now? I'm supposed to move my things back to the poolhouse tonight, before the twins get back tomorrow—"

_"Now."_

He pauses. "Alright. I'll bring my suitcase. What's happened?"

Varric hesitates a moment. "Your... Garrett figured out how bad things are between you and the bitch. You need to talk to him about it."

"Maker. Now? Today?" He groans. "Alright. I'll bring some Scotch."

"Don't bother, I've already broken out a bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip," Varric says grimly. "I'm putting in an order of dim sum you can get on your way. Usual place."

"Alright. Be there in a few. With the Scotch. I'll be damned if you're giving my son sip-sip."

* * *

Garrett spends a while in the bathroom when he gets home; by the time Mal arrives, he's still in there, though when Varric goes to check on him, he finds the door open. Garrett's staring in the bathroom mirror, intently scrutinizing his face, turning his head slightly to examine his chin. He still looks a bit shaken, pale and haunted.

"Garrett?" Varric asks cautiously. _The hell is he looking for? He doesn't look hurt or anything (did he heal himself?)._

"Time already?" he says, startled. "Sorry." He turns to face Varric, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. "Alright, I'm ready."

Varric studies Garret for a moment, then nods slowly. "Yeah... yeah, alright. Come here for a moment first," he says softly, reaching out with an arm.

Garrett moves forward, pressing his face to Varric's shoulder for a moment, accepting comfort. Only a moment, though; then he pulls back. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

"Right," Varric says quietly, following after him into the living room. "Try and eat some before we get into it?"

"Can't. Stomach's all tied up in knots." He shakes his head. "I'll try," he corrects. "At least a little."

And try he does. Over the next few minutes, while he listens to his father chatter on about the twins and the last letter he received from camp, he manages to eat two whole dumplings and a forkful of noodles. Then Mal mentions something about Beth maybe dating and he pushes his plate away, shaking his head.

"No, I can't. That's about all I can manage. I need to talk about it."

"Alright. Deep breath for me," Varric says as he pulls out shot glasses. "One shot. If you want more, you have to eat more."

"Fine," he mutters, taking his deep breath.

Malcolm takes one as well. "Son. I know whatever you saw or heard must have been upsetting, but I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation."

"Maker, I hope so," his son grumbles in return.

Not sure what to say, or if he even should, Varric just reaches over to place a hand on Garrett's leg in silent support.

Garrett takes another deep breath. "When I went home today, I saw— Well... Mother is having an affair."

Malcolm winces. "Ah. Well. This isn't how we wanted you to find out about this, son, but your mother and I have an... arrangement." Varric reaches out and starts pouring out the sip-sip.

"An _arrangement_?! What the hell kind of _arrangement_?!" snaps Garrett.

Mal winces again. "A secret one," he cautions. "You see, your mother and I, for various reasons, cannot obtain a divorce, and so, we've agreed to... see other people."

"You've agreed to— what?!"

"I know your mother's having an affair, Garrett. We've agreed to have them."

"With _her twin brother_?!"

Malcolm coughs, suddenly, struggling to keep his composure. _WHAT?!_

"Well shit," Varric says awkwardly. "Alright, shots now," he suggests firmly, moving the glasses right in front of each of them.

Garrett throws his back while his father is still coughing; he comes up with words as soon as he's swallowed. "How long has this arrangement been going on? Months? Years? I look like him, don't I— did you ever really love my mother, or was it a sham from the beginning?"

Malcolm doesn't touch his shot glass, taking a deep breath. "That's enough, Garrett," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"Am I even your—"

"That's enough!" He doesn't realize he's shouting until he hears the echo come back to him, doesn't realize he's standing until he sees the shocked look on his son's face. _Never, in twenty four years, have I lost my temper in front of the children,_ some part of him thinks, but it's all but drowned out by his heart pounding in his throat.

"Both of you sit down and shut up," Varric snarls, slamming a hand on the table. He has mini-B in his other hand. **"Now!"**

Garrett shuts up, plopping back into his seat wordlessly. Malcolm, on the other hand, shakes his head, quivering slightly with the effort to contain his anger, and without another word, turns and storms to the kitchen, out the back door.

_Damn. I've only seen Mal that rough two or three times the entire time I've known him. Usually takes someone being tortured. Then again..._ "Take a deep breath, shagua. One more. Alright?"

Garrett puts his head on his arms on the table, taking a few deep breaths. "Sorry," he mumbles, turning his head to the side so he can be heard.

"Completely understandable," Varric assures him, reaching over to rub his leg. "Just deep breathes. And..." _Fuck it_. "You are. Mal's, I mean. Wouldn't make him any less your dad but he's your father."

"How can you tell?" he asks, bitterly. "I do look a lot like my uncle."

"Genetics." Garrett scowls, waiting for more explanation. "That was an answer to both," Varric clarifies. Then clarifies more as the scowl deepens. "Genetic testing proves the first, and genetics— your uncle being, you know, your mother's twin— explains why you have some shared phenotypes. Because his twin sister is your _mother_."

"...you ran a paternity test on me?" asks Garrett, slowly. "Did you... know about this? About them?"

"Not exactly." Varric sighs. "I wanted your father to— The reason why they're unofficially split is that he figured out she cheated on him. But he didn't know with who. Or have proof of anything. Something about the way he found out made him worry about timing or something so, well, I already had your blood on hand." Varric shrugs sheepishly. "I pry, it's my nature?"

"Did you test all of us?" Garrett's voice is low, tired, the first blush of panic and anger faded.

"Just you and the twins so far," he says quietly, not mentioning the frankly illegal lengths he'd gone to do so. "Like I said, the timing only indicated you and Marian as possibilities, but I figured 'why not be thorough?' Still trying for Marian, she's a bit hard to reach at the moment."

"So it's been the whole time. They've been doing this— this open marriage, the whole time, my whole childhood."

Varric coughs. "Ah, no. That's, err, new. Far as I know, Mal hasn't even, ah, taken advantage of their rather recent understanding."

"So my mother's an incestuous whore. Good to know."

"That _is_ Gamlen's type," Varric replies, then winces. "Sorry."

"No, no, fair's fair, my uncle's an incestuous whore as well. And my father's a cuckold."

"One, I doubt money changes hands, so slut, not whore. Two, don't use whore as an insult. Three..." Varric rubs his face. "Talk to your dad before you get too upset with him, alright?"

"What did he mean they can't get divorced?"

Varric shakes his head. "That's his business to share," he says firmly. "I've already said more than it's my place to have said."

Garrett shifts so his forehead is on his arms, then, and focuses on his breathing for a few more moments. When Malcolm returns, his hair is a little mussed from the wind, but he seems calmer; he nods his head to Varric, and clears his throat. "I apologize for my outburst. It was unbecoming of me."

"Your wife is fucking her twin. As long as my house isn't on fire, I'd say you're doing fine," Varric assures him bluntly. Malcolm purses his lips together, but gives a curt nod.

"Why can't you get divorced?" Garrett's voice is flat, distant.

"It's complicated."

"Tell me anyway."

Malcolm sighs. "When your mother and I got married, in order to please her parents, we signed a prenuptial contract. At the time it felt like a formality. I loved your mother very much, and had no plans to divorce her, so what did it matter what I signed?"

"If he's the one that files for a divorce, he loses both the company and control over the magitek process. Which will no doubt be sold to the UP within forty-eight hours," Varric supplies, unable to not chime in now that Mal's taken the first step.

"Maker's breath," whispers Garrett. "So you're trapped. And mother's stepping out— _with her twin_ — and you can't do anything about it."

"That's the long and short of it, yes," says Malcolm, his voice tight.

"Welllll," Varric says slowly. Both men turn to look at him, waiting. "What an Amell fears most is scandal. Divorce is scandalous, yes, but _incest_?" He whistles softly. "That's the sort of thing that would make divorce look downright palatable."

"So you're saying we _blackmail and threaten my mother_ ," begins Garrett.

"No-one's saying that, Garrett. I think we've said enough for tonight. You're overwrought."

_I am saying that yes (but I can just think it for a little bit longer)_. "It can sit," Varric agrees out loud. "Right now, we have dim-sum and sip-sip going to waste. We can pull up a movie or something to watch."

Garrett rubs his temples. "Fine. Unless one of you can blood magic the images out of my brain, a movie sounds like the next best idea."

"That's what the sip-sip is for," Varric says gravely. "But eat more first."

* * *

Later, after Garrett's tucked into Varric's bed, as the dwarf walks Malcolm to the door, he says quietly, "I ordered a discreet cam to be shipped to my office. I'll slip it into the bedroom this week."

"I'll get a few into Gammy's place," Varric murmurs back. "Twins'll be back tomorrow, doubt they'll risk another walk-in."

"True. I am assuming we'll need to wait until the twins depart to get any real footage. But it's best to be safe." He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Gamlen? Of all people, Gamlen?"

Varric lifts his hands in helpless bafflement. "Yeah, not seeing the appeal either. Maybe it's a snob thing? The only one good enough for an Amell is an Amell or some such bullshit? Or stone cracks, maybe they'd really want to fuck themselves but gender swapped so this is the next best thing?"

"At least I know why it was the older set she was concerned about. She was probably so eager to marry me because she was already fucking her twin." He sighs. "I don't suppose I'll get much sleep tonight, but thank you for arranging this dinner."

"Didn't feel right, telling him your business but he needed to know," Varric says with a shrug. "Poor guy. I can't imagine how it must have felt to walk in on that." He glances at Mal. "And from what he said, it was, uh, full-on."

Malcolm shudders. "We didn't want the children to know any of this, let alone... well. In any event, the twins will be here tomorrow, so perhaps you can remind him in the morning that all this is strictly confidential? The plan is to pretend to be happily married in front of them for a few weeks."

"You could stay," Varric offers softly. "Got two free guest rooms."

"Leandra's expecting me. She's renovated the poolhouse, I won't have to stay in her bedroom."

"And you don't want to tip her off," Varric realizes. "Fair. I'll call you a driver."

"Thank you. You're a good friend, Varric." He claps a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "A good man."

"I have good reason to try," Varric says softly, eyes slipping to the door to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of the shocking secrets he may have just discovered, Garrett's life goes on. It's time for his siblings to return for the summer, for example, and that means a lot more family togetherness than he'd have liked. Can he hold his peace with impressionable young folk around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Illness (non-pandemic), car accidents

For one blessed half-hour, Carver is able to just... relax.

He can't let his guard down all the way. He can hold Beth's hand, but he can't lay in her lap. That wouldn't be proper. But almost all the way. At school, it's like he's always holding his breath, asking himself: am I manly enough? Am I projecting the image I ought to be? At home, it's even worse: am I representing the family well, as an Amell? But here, in these spaces with only his twin (and the driver), he can just be himself. He can figure out who Carver is, not just Mr Amell the Younger. Or worse, Miss Amell the Second Spare of Three.

He knows everyone will be there when they get in. And so, when they arrive, he picks his head off his twin's shoulder, smiles at her, and untwines their fingers. "Ready?"

"Dahling, I was born ready," Beth says with a warm smile, eyes dancing with happiness. She loves school, loves being with her friends, being the heart of the drama club and princess of her year. She's not student president or in the running for valedictorian by any means, but she's friends with nearly everyone, including most of the teachers, and there's not a student or staff member that doesn't know who she is. She's never dated anyone, though she goes on dates regularly— never paying, of course, in coin or anything else beyond her wit, charm and the social prestige of being seen with her. All in all, Beth is having a splendid time at school. She misses her big brother of course, her parents somewhat less and Marian least but not none, but she has her twin and that's enough. More than enough.

Still, it's nice to be home. "I hope Garrett is here," she says brightly as they exit the car. "I'd much rather he teach us to drive than Mom or Dad. I want a convertible. A dark purple one, the kind with only two seats."

"Of course you do," grumbles Carver, smiling. "I want a sportscar like dad's Audi."

They're let into the house, shown to the front parlor where Garrett, Varric, and Malcolm are playing Scrabble. Leandra and Gamlen sit some distance away, watching television; Carver drops his bag and rushes into the room, right into Malcolm's arms.

"Hey, kiddo, you're home!" says Malcolm, not having to fake one bit of his happiness.

With a happy squeal, Beth does much the same, launching herself at her big brother with the full belief he'll catch her. And catch her Garrett does, getting to his feet quickly— though his left knee threatens to give out under the strain. "Hey, Princess, you're getting big— diet time for you," he teases, setting her back on her feet.

"Bethany Willow Amell! That is not how a lady behaves!" Leandra snaps.

"Of course it is— I'm an Amell and I did it, thus it is the behavior of a lady," Bethany replies with aplomb, then smacks Garrett on the arm. "Also, hey! Jerk." Unusually for a woman of her age, she doesn't seem at all worried he's accurate in his accusation. Beth knows she has wider hips and a softer stomach than some ideals, but she also knows that her tits and ass are _banging_.

Carver pulls back from his father, grinning at his big brother. "You're not dead. Good job."

Garrett laughs. "Thanks. Ass."

"Welcome back to dear old Kirkwall," Varric says lazily, not bothering to rise.

"Uncle Varric, hey! How'ya doing?" Bethany slips past Garrett to plop herself next to him. "Didja get us welcome back prezzies?" she asks prettily, grinning.

"Of course, of course," he says, shaking his head. _Mercenary little thing_. Of course, he's long since realized that Beth associates gifts with approval— not in that she needs them, exactly, but that Leandra and her grandparents only give gifts when they're pleased with someone. So it's less about getting something and more about that getting something means things are good. Which is not to say she doesn't like getting 'prezzies' of course.

"Isn't your birthday next week?" asks Malcolm, as though he's forgotten.

"Sure, and that's when the good stuff will be handed over but for kids as good as these, well, they deserve gifts now and also then," Gamlen says hurriedly, wanting to give his out before Varric can. "Just a little something I happened across," he says with a wink, handing Beth a small velvet rectangle and tossing Carver what's clearly a dvd or video game case in wrapping paper.

Carver catches it, blinking. _Call of Duty?_ he wonders, sliding his thumb under the paper to open it. _DeadMau5 Live? Whatever._ "Uh, thanks," he says, blinking at the DVD. _I didn't know music came in collector's editions._

"It's four discs— got the concert, the making of the filming, some interviews with the band and manager and the studio album," Gamlen explains in a pleased tone. "And there's a poster in there, signed. I know a guy who knows a guy." Least that explains why it's open already...

Beth wrinkles her nose a little before plastering on a smile. "Ooooh, these are nice!" Turning the box around, she shows everyone the pair of glittery earrings in the box. And they are. _Of course, I'm mildly allergic to the nickel in the silver this brand uses, so I can't wear them, but they are very pretty. Eh, I'll regift them to someone at school. Or might be useful for favor bartering._

"That's... cool," says Carver, mustering up a smile. _He tries, at least. Oh well. Gamlen's still loads better than Grampy_. "I should go put my stuff upstairs."

"Me too, I don't want to lose these," Beth says brightly, hoping up from her seat. She quickly drops cheek kisses on her parents and uncle, then scampers after Carver.

_The hell was that_? Varric frowns, not liking the weird gleam in Gamlen's eyes before he muffles it. _Gifts or bribes? Or was that about something else? (What're you up to, asswipe?)._

Bethany, naturally, lets her brother show off his masculine power by carrying the bulk of their bags upstairs. She's nice enough to go first at least, getting lights and doors, and she does grab some of their stuff. "Did you notice Garrett's leg?" she asks in a low voice, breaking her own stream of babble without warning.

Carver nods. "He almost dropped you. And you're not fat."

"And that's why twins are better than brothers or sisters," Beth says with a loving smile, pleased at his reassurance even if she doesn't really need it. Not about her weight at least. "But yeah. I think he got hurt worse than he wanted to admit to me over the phone."

"He was wearing gloves in the house— do you think he might have fucked up his hands?"

"They were silk," Beth says softly, trying not to think of the silk she's wearing. Thankfully, a lady wearing silk underthings is something rarely discussed and never thought strange. Nor are silk blouses uncommon, even artificial silk. Especially not a church school, where the day uniform for ladies— those not in the Mage Circle of course— is silk shirts and cotton-polyester skirts.

He nods. "Is that stylish or something?"

"Silk inhibits magic," Beth reminds him. "He— he must be having trouble controlling his gift. Trauma can cause that sort of thing." She bites her lip. "Make sure you don't startle him. He's probably going to be jumpy for a while."

"Like jumping on him?" Carver points out.

Beth winces. "I didn't know then! And... yeah, probably. I mean, I warned him, sorta, and I always do that so he was expecting it but... yeah."

"He handled it fine," he points out. "Maybe he's just nervous. Or maybe he has a wicked cool scar on his hand. Maybe he lost a finger!"

"Do not ask him if he lost a finger," Beth hisses at her twin. "Boys!"

"What?! It'd be badass as hell. Not as badass as losing an eye, but pretty sick nonetheless."

Bethany groans loudly, then rolls her eyes to the heavens. "Boys!" she repeats with the utter disdain of a seventeen year old female. "Come on, I want to drop this stuff off so we can get our actual welcome home presents from Uncle V." Lifting the bags back up, she resumes going down the hall.

A moment later, she slows, head tilting. "Did you hear something?" _That sounds like someone singing in— in Marian's room? Is that— I thought she wasn't going to be here!_ She smiles broadly, hurrying again. She's not nearly as close to Marian as her brothers, but if she had gone to the effort of getting home in time to greet them as a surprise...

Carver chases after, struggling to keep up with both their larger suitcases in his hands. "Hey, wait up!"

Beth slows a teensy bit, but she still reaches the door to Marian's room a few yards ahead of Carver. She knocks twice, then tries the knob. The door opens freely, revealing— "Woah."

The blonde woman sitting on the edge of the lacey pink bed lets out a muffled shriek and wraps her arms around her chest to give assistance to the bath towel doing its best to cover her curves. That is very much _not_ their sister.

"Ah! Sorry!" blurts Carver, stumbling backwards— and tripping over one of the suitcases in his hurry to cover his eyes.

Beth is less polite, giving the girl a twice over, though she at least keeps it subtle. "Damn, when did Marian get—" She pauses, seeing the rest of the room. "Her room entirely redone?"

"I— who are— get out of my room!" Maribell begs, mortified and completely indifferent to the bottle of body lotion now leaking onto the carpet.

"Excuse me?" Bethany demands, eyes narrowing. " _Your_ room?"

"Hey," says Carver, getting back to his feet. "Remember, Garrett moved out, I bet you Marian's stuff's in his room?"

"Oh right, of course, that makes perfect sense except _who are you_?"

"Naked! _Please_ close the door!"

"Leave her alone, Beth," says Carver, hesitantly. "You wouldn't want to be barged in on naked either."

"Then she—" Beth takes a deep breath. "You have three minutes," she warns the other woman and closes the door. Taking another deep breath, she moves closer to Carver. "Sorry," she mutters to her twin. "I just— I thought that maybe Marian had come home to met us and then..."

Carver makes a face. "No, she's off on her trip, remember? The Arctic or whatever. She doesn't have time for us anymore."

Beth jerks a shoulder. "I know, I just— I just thought maybe."

"Hey. _I'm_ not running off to the Arctic. So there's that."

"Good. I hate the cold," she replies, moving over to pull him into a tight hug. She doesn't bother mentioning that she'd be going with him. That's just a given.

Carver pulls her close, rubbing her back as he rests his head on her shoulder. _I wish our family was whole. But it can't be. Won't ever be again. I won't regret what I did— but we're never going to be whole again because of it._

Behind them, the door cracks open, then slowly widens until the blonde woman is able to look out warily "Are— are you Garrett's siblings?" she asks tentatively.

Bethany stiffens, then her eyes narrow. _Is she— Why wouldn't Garrett have mentioned her_? Turning around but not stepping away from her twin, she gives the intruder a narrowed eye look. "Yes. And you are?"

Blushing, she steps into the hall, revealing that she's put on a blouse and skirt combo, though she's still barefoot. "Maribell Rutherford. I, umm, I'm a guest here?"

"What? Why?" asks Carver, with his trademark bluntness.

Maribell laughs weakly. "That's, ahh, kind of a long story, but, umm, I guess... because Auntie Lea invited me? That's the short version anyways," she clarifies, a bit of her southeastern UP accent coming out.

"Okay, well, uh... I'm Carver."

"Wait— did Mom _give you Marian's_ —" She doesn't even bother to finish, instead twisting around Carver to storm back towards the steps.

"Marian's?" The blonde's eyes widen. "Oh," she says quietly, having not realized that her new room had been... _I thought it was a guest room._

"Woah, woah, wait!" says Carver, reaching out to grab his twin by the waist. "Please don't, Beth, we just got home!"

"But she— she just— no wonder she—" Beth glances at Maribell, then lowers her voice and slips into Taino, a nearly dead but indigenous Caribbean language. Neither of them are as good as Garrett, much less Marian, at academics but Beth had insisted they learn so they would have a language no-one else in their family spoke. "Mother gave Brain's room away! She's never going to come home now. I mean, would you?"

"Beth..." He sighs, then manages in badly pronounced Taino, "She wasn't going to come home. Not ever. We just need to get used to it."

"But she might have," Beth insists weakly, then sags. "I know. I _know_. But I can't—"

Carver loosens his grip into more of a hug than a restraint. "I know," he says, switching back to English. "Me too. But... we just have to deal with it."

"Promise you'll always be around?" Beth mumbles, not for the first time. Or the thousandths.

"Always," he promises. "The family might fall apart but I'll still be here for you. Forever."

"Love you, ma'win," she says, a bit of toddler speech the two had never lost. 'My twin' is the most important thing after all. She takes a slow breath, then steps back from Carver. She turns around to study the uncomfortable-looking Maribell, who in turn is staring at a painting on the wall. She's clearly wishing she can leave them alone but not sure if that'll get her yelled at again. Or chased. "So... Maribell wasn't it?"

"Yes?" she replies tentatively, looking over at them.

"We're going to put our stuff away, then head back downstairs. You don't have to hide up here if you want to come down," Beth offers, her tone clearly marking this as an apology.

Maribell winces. "Isn't Garrett here?" she asks weakly.

"Are you... not— Does he not like you? Uh, he's staying for dinner so..." fumbles Carver.

Maribell grimances. "Umm, that's... well, that's a bit of that long story Ah mentioned. Auntie Lea... she tried to arrange us but it— things did not work out, at all, and, well, let us simply say things are awkward between us at current. Very. Very, very awkward."

"...so you're going to hide up here and, what, not eat?"

Maribell clears her throat. "No, I was going to have a tray sent up from the kitchen," she says with as much dignity as she could muster. "It wi—"

"Sorry, 'arrange us?' As in, an 'arrangement' in the Jane Austin sort of way?" Beth demands. "With Garrett?"

"Beth," warns Carver. "He's an adult, he can make arrangements if he wants."

"How old are you?" Beth demands bluntly.

Maribell sighs a little. "Seventeen," she admits tiredly. "It was to be a long engagement, and even then, one that would not officially start until I was eighteen. Then a wedding the week after I turned nineteen, having waited a year and some as propriety requires."

"Okay that's... that's fucked up," admits Carver.

Maribell shrugs. "Better than my other choices," she murmurs a little too loudly. "Anyways, it got worse from there so, as ah said— awkward. Sorry that we had to met like this, I had wanted to make a better impression."

_Girl, with a rack like that and legs like those, seeing you in nothing but a damp bath towel is a damn fine impression, I assure you._ "At least it was just us— dad or one of our uncles could have followed us up to help with the bags," Beth offers instead.

Carver makes a face. "Right... Well, uh, good to meet you?"

"We should hit up the mall or see a movie tomorrow," Beth offers.

"That— that would be lovely!" Maribell exclaims, then blushes. "Sorry. Auntie Lea has been a most gracious host, it's just..."

"She's not exactly our peer group? She's mom-levels of cool, mostly, which means not?"

"Yeah, let's all go see something tomorrow," agrees Carver. _Like hell I'm letting the hot girl get away._

"Thank you. Both of you. I— that means a lot to me, that you would offer. So thank you." She smiles wistfully. "But you should head back down to your family."

"Uh... yeah. I suppose so." Carver rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head a bit. _What is going on here? Marian's room given to some sexy stranger, Garrett being arrested by Templar... Home isn't safe anymore._

* * *

In the backseat of the Nissan Leaf his father insisted he take in place of the Audi— and even that came with a pointed reminder that he has his own Jeep, and doesn't Varric have a car? — Garrett sighs, resting his head on Varric's shoulder.

"How's your vision? Still holding steady?" he asks quietly. Varric had been badly wounded in the attack Anders arranged only a few weeks prior; his flesh was fine, but his implants were rendered almost entirely nonfunctional, a terrifying prospect when they augment his mental capacity and control his visual feed. He'd been blind until two days prior, when he'd managed to cobble together a patch that lets him see so long as he doesn't use his Heads-Up Display.

Varric hesitates a moment— which is less time than he would have only a month ago. "Headache," he admits. "Switching modes is pretty disorienting. Can't get rid of the two second delay either." _Or the color blur during that delay._

Garrett sighs, having expected as much. "Please use the phone I got you?" he begs, his voice soft. Varric had been keeping a phone for emergencies ever since he found out Fenris could get past his firewalls, but he'd become frustrated trying to use it within a day and gone back to his HUD; Garrett had spent some of his new inheritance on a top of the line Amell Phone 7g, a slightly older model that had a bigger screen and a physical keyboard, hoping it would be less frustrating to use.

"I have been," Varric protests. "I just didn't want to worry the twins their first day back. Beth at least would have noticed and said something." _Carver might have noticed, but he's not as nosy._

"Yeah," sighs Garrett. "I thought I could catch Beth like usual but my knee almost gave way. Damn thing hurts me any time I try to lift something heavy anymore."

"Gonna need a replacement on that not so far off," Varric warns him. Which is why Varric suddenly decided to start investing into a medical research group based out of Spain. No Chantry or Tevinter connections but still productive.

Garrett shrugs a shoulder, not wanting to think about it too hard. Not wanting to wonder which of the many injuries set him on the path to permanent lameness. Not wanting to think about whose fault it is he got hurt.

"We'll work it out," Varric murmurs, reaching over to take his hand. "Together."

"Yeah. We—"

"Heads up." That's all the taciturn bodyguard says before he jerks the wheel, sending them careening off-road— just as a Hummer slams into the spot where they were. Fenris slams on the gas, pushing the electric vehicle as he cuts across to another road.

"Motherfu—" Varric cuts himself off, craning his neck around. _The fuck is going on?_

The temperature in the car drops, as Garrett's hands burst into blue flames; he curses ripely, yanking the ruined silk gloves off his hands as the car swerves, barely avoiding a collision as they re-enter the roadway. "Fuck! Fenris! Drive better!"

"Working on it," the elf snarls through clenched teeth. The Hummer's picked up a friend, both of them more powerful and durable than the Nissan.

"Garrett, frost out the window," Varric orders. "Frost their windows or slick the road if you can't hit them."

"Oh, sure, I'll get right on aiming this shit from a moving vehicle at eighty miles an hour," he grumbles, but he rolls down the window, leaning his head out and gesturing with his hand. The bright blue mote hits the windshield of one vehicle, sending a thick layer of ice to obscure the driver's vision.

"Less bitching, more icing," Varric snaps, ducking down and switching over to his HUD. "I'll looking for electronics, I'll fed you traffic patterns Fenris," he says rapidly.

"Sync with me," says Fenris quickly. It's a risky proposition— the pair had discovered that their implants work well together, having a private handshake protocol that lets Varric ride shotgun while Fenris infiltrates. The trouble is, they haven't tried it since both their implants were overloaded and damaged during the Anders Ambush. It's possible it will double their limited computer power, but just as possible they'll both be overloaded with junk data again and go offline.

"I'll go slow, keep it throttled at first," is his only response before he sinks into the digital. _Okay, let's see. First link with Fenris— if that goes poorly, well. Need to know soonest._

For one blessed moment, everything feels _right_. It's perfect, the sound of parts snapping together in place, the sight of Newton Balls in a perfect wave pattern, the feel of settling into a chair perfectly shaped for your body; it's a deep, abiding _pleasure_ , everything exactly as it's meant to be.

Then the handshake completes, and the data transfer begins. Varric has to scramble to shut off the video feed from Fenris' implants as it momentarily overrides his own vision, scrambled and impossible to decipher, just a blur of colors and shapes that's almost nauseating to behold. Once that's shut off, and he's back to his own HUD, he gets further data from Fenris, data that he can parse; his headache worsens, but he can handle the streams of raw data as as long as he keeps it as data.

Fenris yelps, swerving as the remaining Hummer taps their back bumper. "Fuck! Get me to the highway," he snarls.

_Highway, right. Actually..._ Varric grins, teeth bared. _Got it_. With a bit of focus, Varric creates a purple line on the road in front of Fenris that stretches off into the distance. Up ahead, it curves down a side street, a label popping up before it marking when Fenris will need to start breaking to make the angle required. Shortly afterwards, the Bluetooth in the car clicks on and a synthetic voice reports, "located speed trap. Lead chase to guards. Earn tax-money."

"On it," he growls, swerving to match the appropriate line. They're tapped once more as he does, sending them spinning, but he gets the vehicle under control quickly, his augmented muscle memory making him a more than competent stunt driver.

Before long, the cops are on their tail, trying to pull over both vehicles— though primarily the Hummer, who is clearly the aggressor here. When the Hummer tries to escape, fleeing through the woods, the cops peel off and chase him, letting Fenris slow to a stop to catch his breath.

"Everyone alright?"

"Yes," snaps Garrett. "The hell was that?!"

"Not sure, but I snagged a few photos from a traffic cam," Varric sends over the Bluetooth. "Mapping to the house. Alerting Mal and Leliana." In the backseat, Garrett catches the sound of ragged breathing. "Clearing out record of hacks from traffic and cups." That last had come out slower, with noticeable gaps between words, though the incorrect word is even more worrying.

"Varric, you're pushing too hard, ease back," he says, concerned. _Since when do I take care of him?_ he wonders, but doesn't comment aloud.

"Need to finish," Varric grunts, using his mouth this time. "Almost..." He gasps loudly, eyes screwed tightly shut, then shudders. "Done," he whispers, then falls silent. His eyes don't open and his breathing stays ragged, but Fenris feels the sync disengaging rather abruptly.

"Varric!" Garrett unbuckles the seatbelt, pulling the dwarf into his arms to cradle him gently. "Hey, talk to me, are you awake?" he demands, reaching to wrap his hand around Varric's.

Varric doesn't answer, though his breathing seems to be getting better. Still sounds pained, as is his expression. Pulse is strong at least and the back of his head isn't noticeably warm— one of the common signs of a malfunctioning implant.

"Dammit, Varric," sighs Garret. "Fen, get us home. He's just exhausted."

* * *

When Varric rises next, he finds himself in a sadly familiar situation: lying in his bed, wires hooked up to his implants, while his mechanic types away on his laptop from the bedside spot. There was a time, not too long ago, where that was Varric's spot: the chair had been pulled up to the bed and the tray table brought over so he could work without letting go of Garrett's hand. A time when he was Garrett's rock, his solace, the person he needed nearby to get sleep, rather than the one he had to take care of, to comfort. A time when Varric wasn't blind, and his implants worked perfectly. A time when he was capable, independent, in charge.

Some things haven't changed. One of them is Garrett, nestled up to Varric's side, sleeping with his head on the dwarf's shoulder. He has a bedroom here, he just never uses it, not since the Templar took him and tortured him. Now he needs Varric to sleep, and so he sleeps in Varric's bed, every night, without fail.

All this he takes in during the first few seconds his eyes are open. Then the throbbing in his head intensifies, dull spikes grinding into his frontal lobes with distressing intensity. His jaw aches from clenching in his sleep, his back and thighs for much the same reason. An attempt to reach up with his hand to rub or press or gouge his temple into submission just causes his entire body to jerk sharply. "Urrk," he groans, eyes slamming shut. _Ow. Ow (ow) ow._

Garrett jerks a bit, lifting his head as Varric moves under him. "'ric?" he mutters, sleepily, then shakes his head and blinks his eyes open. "Lay still, you'll hurt yourself," he orders.

"'lear?" Varric slurs though a sleep thick mouth. _Ugh. Head is (ow ow ow) pounding and—_ "Recurds." _Don't know if I finished, can't recall._

"We're safe," says Garrett gently. "You're at home. Mister Li is working on your implants again. I got you into bed, got your maintenance suit on you when you passed out."

"'kay," he murmurs, eyes fluttering closed again. "Stay?" _Trust him. We're safe._

"Always," whispers Garrett. "I love you. Get some sleep."

"M'stallion." Varric's lips curve slightly, then his face slackens as he drifts back off.

The next time he wakes, it's because he's receiving a phone call. For Varric, phone calls are rare; his software usually filters his calls, often routing people straight to voicemail, and those that come to his work phone are filtered by his personal assistant. However, said assistant is currently snoozing beside him in bed, having a bit of a lazy lie-in, a cheap paperback novel laid on the bed beside him. Varric's software is still malfunctioning, so he's only got the rudimentary filtering on his phone. As such, most calls go to the cell on his nightstand, with the ringer turned off. For this call to go through to his HUD, to wake him from a dead sleep, it must be important.

Caller ID reads Este Shaw, the CFO of StoneSure. _Fair enough._

The pounding in his head has pulled back to a low but constant pressure, which is... fine. It's fine. _Ugh. Mouth is dry as fuck. Stupid anesthetics._ Clicking his internal phone on, he routes it through his text-to-speech so he doesn't have to reply verbally and risk waking Garrett. "This is Varric."

"Oh good, you're alive." Not a great start; the woman has a dry wit, but she also downplays her displeasure when something goes wrong. "Unless this is just that implant of yours imitating your higher brain functions. Never can tell with you."

"Very droll. And no, that's why I'm out. Implant malfunction from that business at the park," Varric replies, gingerly starting a system check.

"Fascinating. Is that also why you're ignoring everyone's messages? Your assistant is out, your voicemail is full, your emails aren't being replied to, and you're not taking anyone's assistant's calls. Who should we be taking direction from in your absence?"

"...how the fuck long have I been down? What's today?" _I know I put my finger (hand) in nearly everything but surely they can run a few days without me (annoying yet flattering)?_

"It's the twelfth. Of August. Today is your big all-company meeting and there's no-one to run it," she replies, in a flat tone.

"Fuck." A pause. "Delay. Garrett will be there. I'm bedridden. Support and assist him but let him run it, it's his project."

"Fine," she says. "And check your email once in a while, yeah?" After a brief pause, she adds, "Also, get better soon. StoneSure's nothing without you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Varric chuckles softly. "Softie."

"Hey, you owe me at least two beers, I had to call you myself. This is why I pay Samantha, after all." Without further ado, she hangs up— a charming habit she's developed over the years to save time on awkward farewells.

_Alright, that's handled-ish (beers? plebeian) for now. Unfortunately, the really fun part starts now._ With a sigh, Varric rolls his shoulders to test his body's responsiveness. _Stiff (ha, wish that was a joke) and a little achy but feels about recovered. Great, I can work with that._ "Garrett," Varric says thickly, then coughs before trying to repeat it.

If his name didn't wake him, the coughing certainly does; Garrett shifts, lifting his head, worry sliding across his face in an expression that's too comfortable to be a good sign. "Varric? Hang on, I'll get water," he adds, pushing himself up to a seated position.

Varric eagerly sips at the offered water, then groans slightly. "Hate meds," he grumbles. "Got a call. You need to get cleaned up and head in pronto."

"Head where?" he asks, frowning as he holds the cup for Varric. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"I'll be fine," Varric says. "Dogs'll be here." _That's weak (keep moving)_. "Company meeting today. You need to be there."

"Fuck the company. You can't get out of bed, I'm not leaving you here alone." Garrett scowls, moving to set the cup down on the nightstand.

"My company," Varric reminds him. "It's important to me. And this is your project. Please."

It's the 'please' that gets him, his face softening a little. "It's just a project. We can reschedule. Or Juanita can give the presentation." Still, his voice holds a bit of resignation, as if he knows he's about to lose the argument.

"I'll put the house on lockdown and fort up here with the dogs. All of them," Varric offers, smiling a little.

"And what if something happens to your implants?" Still, he sighs. "I'll have Fen sit with you. Just in case."

"Fenris is _your_ bodyguard," Varric says, frowning now. "I'll call Gerav if you're feeling stubborn about it."

"I'm stubborn? You're the one who keeps pushing yourself too far and hurting yourself!" he protests. "Fine. Call him while I use your shower— shout if you need me."

"Right, right. I'm the stubborn one, you're the cute one," Varric says with a smirk.

"Damn straight," he says, with a lopsided grin. "Stay safe, dammit." Then he rolls off the bed, stretching as he makes his way to the shower. _This is going to be a pain in the ass. Where did I leave those slides?_

"Garret!" Varric calls after him. When he turns around, he finds Varric staring nearly directly at him. "You're going to strike ore with this. Just remember, you're my shagua and you know this project bottom to top."

Garrett's smirk turns into a genuine, heartfelt smile. "Thanks, Varric. I'll keep that in mind."

By the time he's showered and dressed— and done fussing over Varric— Garrett steps out of the house to spot Leliana waiting for him. Well, Juanita, and driving her own car for once instead of her friend's sportscar. "Hey," she calls out to him. "Dropped Gerav off, figured I'd take you two back with me. StoneSure is a green company and carpooling is something we can all do to help the environment," she says in a solemn voice.

"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with my suspended license," adds Garrett. "Alright, then, let's get to it. Frank, you're in the back today," he adds, wanting to sit up front for once if he's not cuddling up to Varric.

"I had no idea," Juanita says with wide eyes. Once both boys are in the car, she leans over to pull Garrett into a deep kiss. " _Please_ stop getting into danger without me around," she whispers against his lips.

Fenris coughs in the backseat, but Garrett ignores him to kiss Juanita back. "Yeah, got it," he says, casually. "If I get in trouble you'll kiss me. Objection noted."

"Right. And if you'd been good, you could have gotten road head," she says sweetly, then glances back at Frank. "Or supply closest head, if Frank here had objected."

"Wait, what?" Garrett's smirk fades. "Damn. Alright, you win."

"Is that all you think about?" asks 'Frank', in a dry tone.

"Only when it's that good."

"What, didn't get enough with your boyfriend this morning?"

"Oh?" Leliana asks. "That is... new. Does this change our," she hesitates, a nervous dread pooling in her stomach, "arrangement?"

"For your information, Varric and I didn't have sex this morning," begins Garrett. "He's ill. And no, Nita, it doesn't. Not as far as I'm concerned."

She relaxes subtly. "I am glad. I enjoy our friendship but, well, it is difficult for me to find someone to be intimate with. I... dislike doing so as Juanita, but I rarely get the chance to met people otherwise."

"Varric is... even if he wasn't badly wounded, he's still not... His libido isn't half what mine is," he points out. "So I'd still want more. There's plenty of my dick to go around," he adds, wiggling his eyebrows, knowing how it's going to sound anyway.

"Honestly, right now, I'd rather have your tongue." She smirks at him as she pulls out onto the street "The last lover I had, far too long ago, hated oral and there's no toy that can replicate the feel."

"Well, I'm always willing to oblige a lady," he smirks, watching her out of the side of his eyes.

"Gag me," says Fenris from the backseat.

"Hey, just because you don't appreciate the finer things in life—"

"Clearly. My tastes run toward the trashiest, sluttiest men available."

"...that sounds pretty hot," Leliana puts in. "Him gagged, I mean. I like being watched, assuming I vet the watchers."

"No," growls Fenris. "I get enough of that at home."

"He's only interested in men," points out Garrett.

"Not true. I'm only interested in _you_. Whether you're a man or just a spoiled child remains to be seen."

"Ouch, sick burn," Leliana says lightly. "Demisexual perhaps?"

"Demi what?" asks Fenris.

"Ah, demisexual. A friend of mine is such— the short of is that you never find strangers or acquaintances attractive. You must know and trust a person to be interested in them sexually," Leliana explains, glancing at him in the rearview. "There is more to it of course, something about primary and secondary attraction?"

Fenris just shrugs awkwardly, looking out the window. _This is why I never talk_ , he reminds himself. _Too many awkward questions._

Leliana waits a moment, then shrugs. "But to jump back, yes. If you stay safe and be good, you get better rewards."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he purrs. "So. I had a slide deck, but I didn't get a chance to practice any before I got hurt, so we're winging it."

"Luckily for you, Dale and I have had such a chance, so we at least have that much. Besides, you know the material well enough that you could do it without the slides."

"Let's hope."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett's gone to give a presentation at StoneSure, leaving Varric to fend for himself all alone while he recovers from overuse of his implants. Are Gerav and Barkspawn enough to keep him safe when Revelations is after him? Or will Garrett return to an empty nest, the scene of a crime?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD flashbacks

Never the most sociable of dwarves, Gerav pulls a chair into the hallway outside Varric's room and gets out his custom rifle to fiddle with as he stands guard. Of course, he has his other custom rifle, intact and loaded, leaning against his chair. And his third custom rifle on the other side. And both of his custom pistols— Gerav really likes making custom weapons. Of course, this leaves a very bored and still technologically limited Varric scowling blindly at the far wall of his room listening to voicemails. As one finishes, his player waiting patiently for the voice command to play the next, he sighs. "Fuck I'm bored."

"Would you like to play a game?" asks his companion, the blond boy, from his position on the bed. He doesn't sit near the pillows, that would be silly; instead he sits at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, floppy hat obscuring his face. "I can play chess. I'm not as good as you are at it."

"Motherfu-" There's no real thought to it, Varric just instinctively chucks the water bottle he's holding towards the voice, not that the speaker even breaks the flow of his offer as the bottle goes wide by half a foot. Praying that bought him a few precious seconds, Varric leans over to grab for mini-B.

"I frightened you," says the blond boy, not moving a muscle as he peers at Varric's face. "I did not mean to frighten you. You are safe here."

"I am not feeling safe right now," Varric snarls, still fumbling for— _got it_! Twisting back around, he points mini-B at the speaker.

"But you are. Safe, I mean. That's why I'm here. I stopped the intruders." He doesn't blink, the blond boy. It'd be odd if Varric could see him, to see his piercing gaze, to realize he hasn't blinked or moved a muscle this entire time save to speak.

"Says the stranger _in my fucking bedroom_ ," Varric growls. _Where the hell is Gerav? Why didn't any of the alarms go off?_ "What did you do to my dog?"

"I didn't do anything to Barkspawn. He's a good dog. I would never hurt him."

"Right," Varric says slowly, wishing he could fucking see already. "Then why isn't he barking?"

"He doesn't remember me. And he has a treat. He likes his treat." The blond boy smiles, then, an eerie smile, disjointed and disconnected from the rest of his facial expression.

_Drugged food? But mabari would never take food from a stranger. Drugged dart or gas (then a treat with more afterwards)? Or maybe the treat is just to make this fucker feel better about drugging a dog_. "That so. Like dogs then?" he asks, stalling, trying to get more information from either the best or worst assassin he's ever run into.

"Oh, yes. Dogs are lovely. I am so glad you adopted Barkspawn. He keeps you very safe. I have only had to stop one intruder so far."

"Really," he finds himself repeating. "How did that come about?"

"They sent a man like a spider, creeping up the drain. But one of the flies told me, and I stopped him before he got close. Now you're safe. Did you want to play chess?"

"Okay, are you high?"

"We are on the ground floor."

_That... that was sincere. What the fuck._ "Are you taking any form of drug or chemical compound that affects your ability to perceive, understand or interact with reality? Examples include marijuana, LSD, and paint chips."

"No. Should I?"

"Normally, I would say no, but if this is you normal, than you might do well to try some weed. Marijuana. Why are you here?"

"Control Unit One told me to keep you safe. I am keeping you safe."

"...neat. Who is control unit one?"

"Control unit one," the blond boy replies, unhelpfully. "Zhǔjī yī tái."

_Right, because repeating yourself for a third time clears it right up._ "Does Control Unit one have a name? Rather than a title?"

"I am instructed to use titles," says Cole. "Zhǔjī yī tái instructed me to find and protect Zhǔjī sān."

_The fuck?_ "Okay. Sure. Can you... describe Zhǔjī yī tái then?"

"I have never seen Zhǔjī yī tái. She lives in my head, with Zhǔjī liǎng tái. They give orders, and I carry them out."

_Going to just hope he has implants. Yep_. "Of course, of course. Well, sight isn't everything." _Ha, ha, ha. Good joke me (I'm an asshole). (But a funny one)._ "How about how they sound? How they talk?"

"Zhǔjī yī tái sounds like rushing water, stopped by a dam, like a caged animal, frustrated and furious and tamed. Zhǔjī liǎng tái is angry, always angry, like a hornet, stuck in circles of things long gone by."

"That's, uh, poetic. Why did they give those orders?" _This is weirder and weirder every time he opens his damn mouth. Sounds like he's either got faulty implants or someone is making a puppet. Two someones. Or maybe he's getting one set of orders but has two (lesser) assistant programs like me?_

"I do not know." A pause. "Family is important." Another pause. "Family is not the right word, but I do not know the right one. What you are to Garrett and Barkspawn."

"...friend is about the only shared relationship descriptor coming to mind," Varric offers warily, then abruptly changes topics. "How about you? Who are you?"

"Friend, then. I wish to be friends. I am Cole."

_Friends. Sure_. "Well, you already know me." The dwarf considers his options. "Tell me about yourself Cole."

"I am Cole. I am designed for infiltration and removal of information. I am capable of penetrating security systems, physical and electronic, as well as rapid removal, retrieval, and destruction of information from systems. I am capable of operating projectile weapons as well as smaller blades, though my capabilities in that regard are significantly reduced compared to those of unit Fenris. I am also easily forgotten or removed from physical media. I am obedient and capable."

"Unit. Fenris." The words are cold. Precise. "Who are you obedient to, Cole?"

"I am obedient to all three Control Units."

"And who do _they_ obey?"

The name that comes out of Cole's lips is the name of Varric's nightmares, the name he both hoped and dreaded to hear: "Zuì shēnkè de qǐshì," _Deepest Revelations._

Varric swallows, wishing he hadn't thrown that water bottle earlier. "Explain," he demands tersely. _This Cole is loyal to these Control Units. The Control Units belong to Revelations— but the old name. Holdover? Lost project obeying old (decade old?) orders? CU 1 ordered Cole to protect me. And to find CP 3 and protect them. Two seperate orders? Or... hmm. Maybe. I'm a big investment they lost. Gotten more valuable (not quite a sci-fi self-improving AI but I do my best). Could be. Don't think this Cole is an assassin. Had more than enough time for that. Stalling helps me more than him. So... a threat, but not right now, at least. Maybe. Need more to work with, more information. Need (Garrett) the variables._

"What shall I explain, Zhǔjī sān?"

_Well shite. Thank you for not allowing me even a little while to think I'm not fucked_. "Start there, with what you just called me."

"I was informed you speak Mandarin? But your confusion is so thick— did you forget yourself?"

"I understand the words. Please explain the context of why you called me that and what it means to you." _Stone cracks, this weirdo is exhausting to talk to. Not as bad as Fenris but damn._

"You are Control Unit Three. Your orders do not supersede those of Control Unit two or Control Unit one, but you are authorized to connect to my implants and give me orders in real time, as they are."

Varric _stares_ blindly at Cole for a long moment. "What. Why? Why do I still have access?" Wait. "How long have CU 1 and 2 been active?"

"Before this unit was activated. After Control Unit Three was activated."

"Then why are they numbered— numbers are based on hierarchy, not chronology?" _Process later, get information now._

"Yes. Control Unit Three was meant to be the primary control unit, but his— your— status apart from the rest makes your orders subject to error. None of you were meant to be alone. I'm glad you're not alone anymore."

"Yeah, uh, about that... You're saying I can give orders, right?"

"Yes. Subject to limits."

"You're not to hurt Garrett. Ever. Do you understand that order?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it back in your own words so I can be sure you understand."

"I am ordered never to hurt Garrett Hawke. He is important."

"Will you comply?"

"Barring conflicting orders, yes."

"From CU One and Two," Varric mutters. "What can be done to prevent you get a conflicting order?"

"Nothing. But I don't have one at the moment, you don't have to be afraid." A brief pause. "They can't hear this conversation, either. I suppose I could make you forget it, so nobody can remember to rescind it."

A pause. "Do you have any orders to report your conversations or new orders to anyone?"

"No. They don't remember I can make them forget. So they don't ask me not to or to tell them what was said when they forgot I existed."

"Never make me forget you exist," Varric says instantly.

"I cannot comply."

"Explain."

"You've forgotten me before."

Varric stares. "Never make me forget from now on. And tell what you've made me forget already." _Process later, information now. Process later, information now._

"You forgot I was on the boat with Garrett. And you forgot I was waiting out front when you arrived to get his wound treated. You forgot I was with you when he was taken by Templar. You forgot I saved him from being made Tranquil. You forgot I got in Leliana's car with her. You forgot I was in the hospital after you got hurt by Anders. You forgot me seven times in the past week. You forgot we talked yesterday and you fired your weapon at me. The shot went wide into the bathroom and I brought it back for you."

"Why?" Varric hoarsely. _What is all this? Why would he— how has he—_ "Why do all that? How are you doing it?"

"My orders were to seek out the others, the others like me that had left, and bring them back to the fold. But my other orders were to protect you, to not allow you to come to harm. I needed more information to understand how I could do both those things."

"Well, CU 3 is putting his authority and support for the 'protect and disallow harm' order set," Varric says tightly.

"If CU 1"— and here, consciously or unconsciously, the blond boy imitates Varric's language to put him at ease— "changes my orders, I will have no choice but to comply. There is no override."

"But CU 1 is who is sending the protect orders?"

"Sent. Yes. One such order exists and has not been rescinded."

"...when was that order sent? And when did CU 2 send his own order or orders about capturing me?"

"As soon as I reported that you had been found," says the blond boy. "When I saw you when you treated Garrett's gunshot wound. Both were issued that same day."

"Did they know about each other's orders?" _Followed Garrett back from that base._

"Yes. They started arguing. I didn't like it. So I made them both forget me."

_That sounds handy. And creepy_. "Have they— Have they remembered you since then?"

"Yes. And forgotten. And remembered. They fight over many things. I can't always stop them, but I do when I can. It isn't good for family to fight."

_One big giant creepy ass family_. "Alright, and they're forgetting you right now? Good. Don't let them remember you until I order you otherwise. That way they won't fight over me."

"I cannot comply."

"Explain," Varric says as patiently as he can force himself to be.

"I am ordered to keep you safe. I am not designed to be operated independently. To keep you safe, I will eventually need guidance from a Control Unit. Your unit is malfunctioning. So I will need to allow them to remember me."

"Malfunctioning how?" Varric says slowly. "You mean the damage to my implants?"

"Yes," says Cole, his voice softer, eyes softening with compassion. "You must be protected while you are at reduced capacity."

"Why do I need my implants working properly to give you direction? I've already given you orders."

"You have not initiated handshake."

"How do I— you mean doing a ride-along, like I've done with Fenris," Varric realizes.

"Yes. You have two capable units under your command and yet you are linked to neither. The damage is pervasive. I am worried for your continued functioning."

Varric frowns. " _Two_ units?"

"Unit Cole and Unit Fenris."

_Right, of course. Because strange mind-wiping double-agent types are— why is this my life?_ "I have linked to Fenris. And I didn't know about you until just now so I couldn't very well link to you, could I?"

"We have been speaking for twelve minutes."

Varric stills. "What? No, we've been speaking for about eight minutes." _Wait. Son of a—_

"Should I begin again? This seems to have gone badly..."

"No! I said no mind-wiping," Varric snaps. "Leave my memory alone."

"The memory is still there. You just don't remember where the parts with me in it are. Not like Unit Fenris. His memories are lost forever."

A long pause. "Can you restore them?" Varric asks, trying to keep the surge of hope suppressed. "My memories."

"Yes. I can enhance lots of things you've forgotten."

"Is it dangerous? Normally and given my condition?"

"It's perfectly safe. Forgetting, remembering— these are things men do. The danger is in making men behave like machines."

"Then make me remember what you made me forget," Varric orders, bracing himself.

"Alright."

Nothing changes, much. There's no rush of information, no sudden onslaught of images. Only, the blond boy becomes Cole. He can picture the boy's face, now, his mannerisms no less creepy but at least within the usual. Varric finds himself thinking things like, _'Cole's always been creepy, but he can be useful'._

_That's... terrifying. Strange, interesting but horrifying. No-one should be able to— Process later, focus on now._ "Good. Again, you are not to make me forget again. Alright?" He musters up a faint smile, to take a little of the edge from the repeated order.

"Unless I am given orders to the contrary," says Cole. "Would you like me to restore anything else?"

"What do you mean?" _'I can enhance a lot of things' he said. Does he mean that he can restore memories that have faded naturally?_ "Normal memories? What are the limits to your ability?"

"I don't know. I've never hit a limit yet."

"Can you affect— yes, you must be able to," Varric mutters, recalling instances where Cole had used his ability to affect humans and elves without implants. _How the fuck does that even—_ "How are you able to do this?" _This is some sci-fi bullshit._

"My implants are very advanced."

"Neat," Varric says wryly. "Do you have any idea how they work?"

"Science is very difficult for me," he admits. "I do not understand much about how computers work."

"Alright." _Maybe get Li to take a look at some point_. "So... tell me about yourself," the dwarf says after a moment.

"I am Cole. I am designed for infiltration and removal of information. I am capable of penetrating security systems, physical and electronic, as well as rapid removal, retrieval, and destruction of information from systems. I am capable of operating projectile weapons as well as smaller blades, though my capabilities in that regard are significantly reduced compared to those of unit Fenris. I am also easily forgotten or removed from physical media. I am obedient and capable."

Varric starts to cut him off, then stops himself instead to see if... _Yep, word for word. Like he's reading from a bio. Or a marketing pamphlet._ "Also neat. Go on," he says, then pauses. _Wait, have I— I have, indeed, done this before. Stone, this is weird._

"What more shall I say?"

"Tell me about yourself in a non-professional content. Not about your job or your skillset. Tell me about Cole."

"I don't remember. My memories are like Unit Fenris, lost."

_Damn._ "Well, then, how about since then? What do you do for fun? What kinds of foods do you like most? Music?"

"I do not do things for fun. I enjoy eating food. Music is pleasant."

"Gonna be difficult about this, huh?" Varric smirks a little. "Okay. List the last ten things you've eaten."

"Three granola bars, a glass of soymilk, twelve grapes, seventeen marshmallows, a can of green beans, a handful of Frosted Flakes, a can of peaches, a glass of honey, fifteen grapes, a glass of soymilk."

"Soymilk? Why would you do that? _Twice_?"

"I select low-value foods to reduce the impact on overall food stores."

Varric rubs his forehead. "Okay. So. Assuming that all of those foodstuffs were equally plentiful and available, which would you choose to eat?"

"Whichever I am instructed to eat, or whichever would be missed the least."

"You are instructed to pick and none will be missed as all are surplus."

Cole humms to himself, thinking it over. "The soymilk was nice. It took very little time to consume and yet contained seven grams of protein."

_You poor thing_. "I see. Did you like the taste?"

"The taste was adequate."

"How does the taste compared to the other foods you've eaten?"

"It was less sweet than the grapes or honey. It tasted less like death than the beans or frosted flakes. It was far superior to the bacon. All foods are superior to bacon."

Varric stares at him. "That's," _don't say blasphemous_ "an interesting analysis. Did you like the sweetness of the grapes and honey?"

"It was acceptable. The grapes were preferable to the honey. The honey stuck my mouth together. This was unpleasant."

"Well, you're not really supposed to eat honey by itself," Varric says, fighting back a smile. "Honey is a condiment or an ingredient. Are you hungry right now?"

"Yes."

"You seem to prefer raw food over cooked," he notes. "Interested in trying a salad? Maybe some fruit? Drizzled with honey." _Almost sound like he has an elven palate_.

"I will try this thing," he says. "But I am lacking in protein. I understand this would not provide enough protein for the body to continue."

"Soy milk has protein but..." He frowns, not wanting anyone to suffer that shite if they don't have to. "Have you tried nuts yet? I have cashews for stir-frys, they can go in salads too."

"I have not eaten cashews. Are they like soybeans?"

"A touch sweeter, with less of a chalky texture," Varric says after a moment's thought.

"That sounds pleasant. May we consume salad together?"

Varric laughs softly. "Sure. I'll have some steak in mine, but we can have salad together." _This is going to be... interesting._ "Cole— if and when you have to contact or get contacted by CU one or two, alert me."

"I will try. I do not want you to worry."

"Good luck with that."

* * *

Garrett sags against the wall, listening to Dr Shaw goes through her financial summary again. _Two presentations in one day, both on material I haven't thought about in weeks — damn, but the company is big!_ He rubs a hand over his eyes, knowing that any moment now, the meeting will let out and he'll be approached by hordes of people angling for the real scoop.

_Still, that went well. Everyone had questions, and I barely floundered when thrown a curveball. Everyone seemed excited to see what this means for their paycheck._ He reaches down to touch his cane again, briefly, making sure it's still where he put it, it hasn't fallen over. _And standing went alright as well. I could use a sit after this, but I'm alright. This was nothing compare to— (don't think about it) other stuff I've survived._

In a gesture that's only moderately out of character for Juanita, the redhead reaches over to place an hand on Garrett's far shoulder in an almost hug. Not something she can do often, given their heights, but with him slumped, she can just pull it off. "That went amazingly well," she murmurs, lips curving in a polite, professional smile. "Better than most presentations by a large margin and worse than none I would say. Of course, your presentation was about us basically getting, on average, a seven percent raise on top of our normal raise so that's hard to beat."

"Thanks," he says, gruffly. "I still just want to be home. I hope Varric's alright. But this is good. Objectively, this was good. I'm glad the project's launched, now."

"You've done an incredible thing. I've never seen a company meeting with this kind of energy, at least not since when Varric announced we were getting the exclusive Amell Industries contract." Which had allowed the company to nearly double in size in the next few years and avoid any downsizing since. "She's just about done; ready to mingle?"

"No," he sighs. "But ready to be done, anyway. Thanks." He leans on his cane, plastering a smile on his face.

The mingling is just about what he expected; a mix of gratitude, subtle criticism, attempts to get gossip and brown-nosing. Most of the first comes from the rank and file, the second from upper management. The last two are from every level, even the sucking up. None from the Board, but even some of the department heads are just a shade too effusive with their praise and friendliness given that Garrett is just an assistant. A high level one, yes, but still just an assistant. At first, he assumes it's just his revealed pedigree but that doesn't quite fit all of what he's getting. And based on the looks Juanita gives him, he's not the only one noticing.

Garrett is just turning away after finishing a chat with the day foreman for the main dock warehouse when someone gives him a slap on the shoulder. "Garrett my boy! Well done, well done indeed! No wonder the Major's been so pleased lately." The speaker, an elderly man with an obvious toupee, a handlebar mustache and blindingly white teeth, is vaguely familiar.

"I only hope I can live up to my grandfather's example," says Garrett automatically, struggling to keep his balance. _Who the hell are you?_

"Mr. Blakewood," Juanita says with a smile, reaching past to offer her hand. "Glad you were able to make the company meeting, given your other duties."

The man hesitates a second, eyes flicking to Garrett, then takes the hand briefly. "Course, course. Wouldn't miss it. Might only consult here but that's no reason to not keep abreast of things. All the more reason in fact!" Blakewood, Garrett recalls, is one of the members of the Board of Trustees for his family's company.

"Of course, of course. Wouldn't want StoneSure scooping your brightest talent, would you?" Chuckles Garrett. "I am pleased you could make it."

A sly look on his face, Blakewood taps his nose. "As you say, my boy, as you say. Glad to see you really using your Maker given gifts finally. Blood will tell and the Amell blood is for business."

"Yes, I am ever so grateful to Mr Thedas and my father for arranging this internship. It's drawn out my best qualities. I look forward to a long, lucrative career."

"Internship? Of course, of course." He winks again. "Your grandfather, damn clever, always thinking ahead. Well, you can be sure I'll be telling him how well you did here today. Place'll be in good hands, my boy." He nods sagely

_This place? Uh..._ "I think you have the wrong idea," he chuckles. "Don't get me wrong, I love working at StoneSure, but my heart's always thinking of Amell Inc."

Blakewood winks yet again. "As it should be, my boy, as it should be. Well. I've a four o'clock, so I should be off. Give my best to Mister Thedas, Maker see to his recovery."

"I shall, as soon as he's well enough to be seen," says Garrett. _The fuck was that about?_

"That was... worrying," Juanita murmurs a few minutes later, once she's able to get him off to the side of the room.

Garrett nods, leaning on his cane. "I think... I am going to have to do something about these rumors sooner than later," he says slowly. "The twins' birthday dinner is this weekend, maybe I can do something then."

Juanita nods slowly. "I had thought that... well, thanks to my, ahem, _talk_ with Dinna, gossip puts us as together, not you with anyone else. But Blakewood isn't around that much, perhaps he has not gotten the latest? Still. Worrisome."

"I don't think it's that. I suspect he's thinking I'm being groomed for a corporate position here at StoneSure," says Garrett, still speaking slowly as he ponders the conversation.

Juanita opens her mouth to reply, then stills, her expression that of someone listening for something too faint to be sure. She slowly looks to her left, but before she can say something, Dale does. Dale who is walking towards them openly but who they just didn't notice until just then. "So, little hurt," he begins in a teasing tone that doesn't match the worry in his eyes. "Just heard the news from Charlie in finance, on the down low of course, about the merger slash acquisition."

"Mer— the what?!" he asks, blinking.

"Why between Amell and StoneSure," Dale says in a bright and chipper voice. Thankfully quietly though. "Why else would the Amell scion secretly apprentice to Varric, after taking an extended tour of the company? Everyone assumes you were supposed to be unveiled now, today, with the profit sharing as your welcome gift, but Varric being hurt pushed it back."

"What." Garrett's voice is flat. "Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. I have to call my mother. Excuse me." He hobbles toward the patio on his cane, digging his phone out of his back pocket with his other hand.

"Hello?" The fuck? Why is Maribell answering his mother's phone? "Umm, Lady Amell's phone, can I help you?"

"Maribell," he says, in a low tone. "Put my mother on, please."

"Garr— Garrett," she squeaks. "Umm, j-just a moment. She's— I'll get her." She goes silent, then he can hear movement. A few seconds later, he hears voices, both female and refined, talking.

A good minute and some later, his mother finally says, "Garrett, I was getting a facial. Can this wait?"

"Maybe," he allows. "I'll be quick. Is there a scheme between Amell and StoneSure? I don't want to misstep if you or The Major have plans." Garrett's grandfather sometimes answers to 'pappy'. But not in his capacity as the majority owner of Amell Incorporated. Not even when it's his grandson asking about his business dealings.

"StoneSure?" She makes a faint noise of disgust. "I'm sure there are, your father and his 'friend' are thick as thieves. Why are you asking _me_?"

"Rumor has it I'm going to be put in charge after Amell buys out the company. If that's not something we're planning, I need to squash it fast. And you always know what's being planned for me. You're my _mother_."

A long pause, though not nearly as long as before. "I see," she finally replies slowly. "Father hasn't mentioned anything of the sort but... Hmm. I'll speak with Gamlen, see if he's been told anything. Come home for dinner tonight?"

"Of course," he says, nodding. "Thank you, mother. Shall I bring a wine for you?"

"Oh your company is delight enough, my darling boy. But I do love gifts," she says with a pleased laugh.

"Alright, then, a gift it is. I'll see you tonight." _Damn. I really wanted to spend some time with Varric._

Still, he has some time before dinner, especially if he calls and has flowers delivered to his mother instead of shopping. He slips out of the car before Fen even gets his door open, leaning on his cane as he makes his way up the walk, into the dining room. Fenris gives him a dirty look but doesn't comment as he gathers up Garrett's things from the backseat.

"Hey," he says, his voice relieved, as he spies Varric up and at the table. _And eating a salad? Weird_. "Did Gerav help you to the table? I hope you didn't fumble your way out here blind by yourself."

"Hey, no, and I did not. Did you eat?" Despite his brisk words, the smile Varric offers is warm and welcoming.

Garrett frowns. "Not yet, but I have to go home for a family dinner tonight. Did you know they're saying I'm being groomed to take over StoneSure after Amell Inc buys it out?"

Varric coughs a little, fumbling for the glass of water which he abruptly has. "The fuck?"

"Yeah, news to me too. So I'm going to talk to Mother and get the skinny on whether this is a real plot or just unfounded rumors. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll propose a marriage alliance," he jokes.

"Congratulations," says the blond boy, from his seat beside Varric.

"Very funny," Varric says with an eyeroll. _Wait. Why isn't—_ "Cole? Can Garrett see you?"

"I doubt it. I am not certain."

Garrett frowns. "...Who are you talking to?"

"He cannot," reports the blond boy.

"Anyway, I missed you," purrs Garrett, moving to sit by Varric— on the opposite side as Cole, not that he seems to notice.

"Cole, can you make it so he can," Varric says firmly, holding up a hand to Garrett to request a pause.

"Alright, but I can't do it very long," the blond boy agrees.

Garrett nearly falls backward out of his chair. "Whatthefuck how long have you been— how did you get in here?!"

"This is Cole— Fenris's successor. He can do that. What did you mean by 'not for very long' Cole?"

"He isn't like us. He doesn't see the world the way we do. It's hard to make him see me."

"Fen's— what the fuck?!" demands Garrett.

"...implants? He doesn't have implants so— how does that—" Varric shakes his head. _How can you even affect him in the first damn place?_ "Whatever. Alright, yes. Cole is another Revelations creation. He's, ah, a bit AWOL at the moment. Evidently he's been around for a while, we just can't remember most of the time. Cole, can you help Garrett remember you on the boat? Just the part you were involved with."

"Yes," says Cole.

Garrett's eyes widen, and he drops his cane, stepping back, then back again. "You," he breathes. "You're the demon that— What are you doing here?! What do you want with my Varric?!"

"The fuck? Garrett, what's wrong?"

"He killed eight men," whispers Garrett, eyes still wide. "With his bare hands. Unarmed."

Varric frowns, glancing at Cole. "They couldn't see you, could they?" he says slowly. _Leliana could do that with a pair of daggers, depending on their training. Average Templar squad, yeah. But she'd take some hits. Unarmed? Crippled if not lethally wounded._

"Not most of the time," says Cole. "One of them tried to run, so I had to stop him."

"That's... an effective application of your ability," Varric says neutrally. "And given that they were Templar— given what they were trying to do— I can't feel a fucking hint of pity or regret for their deaths."

"You were too slow," says Cole, neutrally. "They were applying the brands. So I stopped them."

That pushes Garrett too far; he sits down, hard, on the floor, letting out a soft whimper, still staring at Cole.

Without even thinking about it, Varric links to Cole's eyes so he can kneel down next to Garrett. Embracing him, he makes soft, soothing noise. [Take the memory back.]

Garrett shudders, clinging to Varric. "Please," he whispers, shuddering again. "Please, don't let them—"

Cole slips away from the table, standing near Garrett, but not too close. "It's gone. But he still suffers. His mind returns to the moment he gave up, the moment he thought all was lost. He begs for a way out. It was that pain that called to me."

Lifting Garrett's face with a single finger, Varric gently brushes his lips across his lover's. "Garrett. Come back to me. Come back home."

He shivers, closing his eyes. "Varric," he whispers. "I— I feel so— I— I'm having a flashback," he says, taking another deep breath.

"He can't leave that moment," says Cole, his voice a touch sad. "His pain drags him back, over and over. Maybe it always will."

"Then I'll be there forever, leading him home and keeping him safe." He kisses Garrett again lightly. "And you are safe. I have you. I love you. Always, my thick-headed, stubborn shagua."

"Varric," he whispers, his eyes filling with tears. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Varric's chest, sobbing into his shirt.

Varric cradles him close, rocking gently and rubbing his back, until he settles. "Ài nǐ shugua. Ài nǐ."

Cole watches for a moment, his expression hungry, until Fenris walks up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them be," says the elf, his voice gruff.

"Alright," says Cole, turning away. _Someday perhaps I will have family as well..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett's been "invited" home for dinner to find out if there's any truth to the rumor he's being groomed to take over his father's company. But it's been a long day; he had to stand for hours on his bad leg giving a speech at work, and then he's had a flashback because of Cole. Can he get through dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD recovery

The whole way home, Garrett won't let go of Varric's hand in the backseat.

As Fenris drives them, the blond boy sits in the front seat, having a conversation with the driver that Garrett tunes out. He rests his head on Varric's shoulder, only rousing when Fenris opens the door for him. "Grab my chair?" he mumbles, his voice a bit thick, slurred.

"You're certain? Alright."

Garrett takes a moment to plant a kiss on Varric's hand before he releases it, transferring to the wheelchair. "You're sure you're up for this?" he asks again. "I can have Fen take you home..."

[Garrett can't really notice you, right?] the dwarf sends to the blonde boy as they get out of the car.

[Not for a time], the blond boy sends back. Seeing through his eyes is much like seeing through Fenris', but his overlay is all in a language Varric doesn't speak, something in the Cryllic alphabet that's distractingly not the Russian he studied, so he's opted to turn it off, giving him vision unobstructed in a small window he's moved to the center of his HUD. It's not as good as his own vision, but he refuses to compromise, going without a HUD altogether. He refuses to be helpless.

[Good. You're too much a reminder of the Templars right now. We'll work on that later.] Shifting, he pats Garrett's arm. "I'll do fine. This evening, I'm taking care of you again. You can fuss tonight."

"I hardly need it," he protests, but it's much less firm than it ought to be, more timid. Still, he smiles. "Thank you."

Varric smirks a little, moving in for a second, but pulls himself back when he remembers where they are. "You'll have to imagine I kissed you," he murmurs. "Anyway, you don't have to _need_ fussing to get it. Sometimes it's just for fun, sometimes it's for _fun_ , and sometimes it's just nice."

But Garrett flinches. "We still have to talk about... _fun_ ," he suggests. "The sex is great, but— and I can't believe I'm saying this, but..."

"The sex _is_ great. And it's enough. You'll be ready when you're ready. For now, we have to get through dinner," Varric says softly.

"But I _want_ it. We barely got to start, and it was— I don't want those assholes to take it away from me."

So saying, he sighs, slumping a little in his chair so he can rub his left knee. The bad knee. The one that was slammed between a wall and a motorcycle, magically healed, skinned down to the bone under another motorcycle, magically healed, and finally shattered by a Templar cudgel before being magically healed again. The one they've said never fully healed any of the three times, and with all three in close succession, he'll never quite walk without a limp. It may be a year of physical therapy before he can stand all day like he has and still be up for dinner.

He hopes Beth and Carver are out. _Beth will freak if she sees me roll up in a wheelchair._

"We won't let them," Varric promises. "We'll just take it slow. Anticipation and savoring. Work our way back." He pauses, correctly guessing the reason for the flicker of guilt/worry on his lover's face, "your sister is over a friend's. Didn't notice anything online about Carver, so he might be there or might not."

* * *

Garrett did not think this one through, he decides, as he gets settled. It's nice to see his mother again, but it's still strange trying not to know what he knows about her, trying not to see her sitting next to Gamlen as a betrayal of his father. He'd expected his father to be present, only to learn that he was taking Carver out for some father-son bonding time on the yacht. He hadn't expected Maribell, though he really should have. He does his best to smile and be polite, secretly just hoping he gets something worth all this out of his mother.

He doesn't. She doesn't know anything about the rumor. Either it's just a rumor, or the Major's being particularly tight-lipped on this one. So as Garrett focuses on keeping a smile on his face and wine out of his cup, he counts the minutes until he can escape, until it's just him and Varric again.

_I never would have thought Varric would be my rock, my refuge. But here he is. Here we are. Here— was that the front door?_

"Just give me a few days, you'll see," Gamlen says expansively, more than a few glasses of wine in him as well. _If I can get this done, maybe I can get a little ground back._ "Pops can be a bit closed mouth at times, but I'll work it out of him in no time. And if not him, then I'll smooze a bit at the headquarters and—"

"Garrett!" Tossing a couple of bags at the door, Bethany rushes over to the table towards her big brother. "You won't believe who—" And then comes to a hard stop. "What are you— why are you in a _wheelchair_?"

Garrett's smile falters, but he keeps his lips stretched, despite knowing how unconvincing it looks. "Hey, Bethie. Nothing to worry about, Princess, it's just been a long day on my feet. Doctor's orders, you know."

"All-company meeting today," Varric explains. "And your brother has too much pride to sit during speeches or the like."

"I still don't see why you made my poor son cover for you at your _own_ company," Leandra says waspishly.

"Mother, we talked about this," says Garrett, his tone soothing, patient. "It's _my_ initiative, after all. And Varric's still recovering. I was happy to do it alone, but even if he'd been well, we'd have just been there side by side."

_Side by side? That sounded— ugh, brain, stop being weird._ "I thought you said you were basically recovered," his sister accuses him.

"I— I am," he admits, his smile faltering again. "Well, mostly. They say if I keep up my physical therapy I might not need the chair anymore next year, we'll just have to see. I'd rather not do pain drugs so..." He shrugs a shoulder, glancing away. "So for now, I'm supposed to not push myself too hard."

"Which is why you should come _home_ , where I can take care of you," Leandra says smoothly. "I'll hire a nurse to stay with you of course, but there's nothing like a mother's touch for getting better."

"Yes, of course," Gamlen says with noticeably less enthusiasm. "Always welcome and such here."

"Nonsense. Varric needs m— someone to keep his spirits up. And I need someone to look out for me. We're a good pair that way." He smiles. "I assure you, mother, I'm very well looked after."

Varric picks up his water, the movement just a little slower than normal as he uses Cole's left eye to guide his hand. _Dammit Garrett, you keep that up..._ "We make do."

_Okay, seriously, is he— Garrett!_ Bethany narrows her eyes, hands going on hips. "Are you serious about actually just being tired today? If I spoke to your doctor, would he agree?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he says, wincing a bit. "He might be a little less optimistic than I've been," he admits, pushing his chair back from the table. "Here, let's go for a walk, how about? It sounds like you have news?"

"Butt in seat!" Beth snaps.

"No more walking today," Varric says at the same time. They both pause, glancing at each other, then the dwarf gestures at her.

"N-no, I meant, I would stay in the chair," says Garrett, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sniffing, Bethany nods. "Darn right you will," she says firmly, moving behind him to take the handles. "But a walk with my big, dumb brother sounds great. You should hear first anyway."

"Great. Feel free to have dessert without me," he says, letting Beth push him out to the garden. Not alone, though. The bodyguard trails after, silent as a shadow, watching them closely.

As he leaves, he can hear Varric launch into a rather long and involved story, one that Garrett has heard before. One about two coworkers getting caught in flagranti delecto together by their junior.

Beth takes a few minutes to ramble about her shopping trip with a friend and how said friend had 'borrowed' her mother's credit card which had in turn lead to Beth's plans changing rather abruptly when it turned out said mother had some very good alerts set up on her cards. But once they're out into the garden proper, she cuts off. Leaning down, she murmurs, "that was really stupid you know."

"Was it?" he asks, his throat tightening.

"Yes," Beth says tartly. "I know you like pushing it, but still. What if mom or Uncle Gamlen had caught on?"

"Caught on to what?" he asks, tilting his head a bit. _I hate to use Plan B but..._

Beth snorts loudly. "I'm not _dumb_ Garrett, even if I am only seventeen. Almost anyway." _Closer to seventeen than sixteen after all._

_Plan B it is._ "Look," he says, hesitantly. "I don't know how you found out, but Frank would lose his job if we were caught. Please don't tell Varric?"

Beth makes a choking noise. "Wait, _what_?"

Fenris scowls, but as Garrett shoots him a glance, he sighs. _The things I do for you, Amell_. Then he moves forward, planting a kiss on Garrett's cheek. "Is your knee alright? I told you to sit between speeches. Stubborn ass."

"I— what?" Beth repeats. "Then why were you playing with mom about Uncle Varric?" she demands. _What on earth?_

"About... Varric?" he asks, looking up. "Beth, I think you have entirely the wrong idea. He's my mentor. I care for him dearly, but— I would never abuse Dad's trust that way." _I hate lying to her. I hate lying to any of them. Varric..._

Fenris scowls, pulling back. "This was a mistake," he says abruptly. "What did we come out here to discuss? This?"

"Excuse me?" Beth says sharply, glaring at Fenris.

"Frank," says Garrett, sharply. "Beth's my sister. Please don't—"

"I never agreed to tell your family anything about us," says Fenris. "If you wanted that, you should have told me in advance."

"That's enough," snaps Garrett. "Beth's my sister. I don't hide things from my family if I don't have to."

Fenris snorts, looking away. "As you wish."

Beth's eyes flick from one to the other. "Yeah no, this smells off. What's going on here?" _I thought he was just having some fun, trying to see how much innuendo he could sneak past mom and Uncle Gamlen but now he's acting real weird._

Garrett sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Mother doesn't know anything yet, but Father's given his blessing. It's... we're taking things slow for now. We— Things are... complicated. Please don't say anything."

"Dad knows— knows about..." Beth's eyes are wide. "About—" She doesn't seem to know how to end that sentence.

He winces. "Mother still thinks I'll marry a nice girl someday," he says, his throat closing. "Please don't say anything. You know how she was with Mar."

Beth takes a few breathes, eyes still wide. "So you're, umm, like Mar? I mean, just reversed obviously" She hesitates "And dad is... okay with that? Like really okay?"

"Yeah," he whispers. "I mean— I'm bisexual. Not a bisexual lesbian like Marian, just bisexual. But I don't— I'm with a man."

"What did dad say?" Beth whispers intently. "Did you tell him or did he find out?"

Garrett winces. "I... may have accidentally mentioned when I was worried Varric would die," he admits. "He has concerns about the age difference, but he didn't say anything about sin or the Maker. I'm... actually not certain he's Andrastaen anymore. He hasn't been to church in forever."

_Wait, Varric?_ "I am _so_ confused. So you're not with this guy?" Beth asks, jerking her chin towards Fenris.

"He is," says Fenris.

"I'm not," says Garrett simultaneously, then winces. "It's complicated. I'm mostly with Varric. I'm a little with Frank, and a few others."

"Man-whore," Beth says with wide eyes. "My brother the bi-manwhore." She doesn't sound disapproving, just stunned and amused.

He winces. "A little," he admits. "Sorry. I'm sure that's not what you wanted to hear tonight, Princess."

Frowning a little, Beth kneels next to the wheelchair. "Hey, no, I'm the one that's sorry. You've— you've had a really rough month or two and you don't need this right now."

"It's fine, Beth. I'm wounded, not dying," he snaps.

"That doesn't mean I should poke at your weak spots," Beth snaps right back.

"This isn't a _weak_ spot, Beth. It's— nevermind." He takes a deep breath, lets it out, his hands shaking a little as he does. Trying to take the edge off, he summons an ice mote again, letting it roll over and under the fingers of his left hand, from pinkie to thumb, then back again. An old tactic, one that soothes him when he's tense.

"You looked almost scared," Beth says quietly, lip quivering. "Of me."

"I'm not afraid of _you_ ," he says, feeling the fear rising in the back of his mind. "Never you, Princess."

"Good. Because you're my big brother and I love you. Okay? It's fine. This, I mean." She takes his hand and smiles at him. "Totally supportive. I mean, that it's Uncle Varric is... a little weird, but he's always been family so..."

Fenris puts a hand on Garrett's shoulder. "Deep breath," he says, in a low rumble.

Garrett takes a deep breath, then another, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. _Keep it together, Garrett. Don't break down, not in front of Beth._

"Garrett?" Beth asks, brow furrowed. She glances up at Fenris. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"He needs a moment," Fenris says, firmly. "He's had one flashback already today, it makes a second easier."

"Flash-" Her eyes widen and she swallows thickly. _Oh. Oh of course. What should— he's upset. So... just like Carver._ Taking a deep breath, Beth begins to hum softly. After a moment, she starts to sing.

"Elgara vallas, da'len. Melava somniar. Mala taren aravas. Ara ma'desen mela." Despite her words earlier about only being decent at song, it's clear she means 'decent compared to professionals.' She continues to sing, soft, slow and sweetly, for as long as Garrett needs.

Garrett takes another few deep breaths, slowly relaxing into his chair, trusting Fenris to protect him. As he untenses, the attack he's braced against never comes; he settles, feeling more himself, and slowly opens his eyes.

"That was lovely, Princess," he says quietly.

Beth falls silent, blushing, as she ducks her head. After a moment, she shrugs. "A friend taught me. At school. I mean, obs at school. Carver likes it when— well. Did it help?"

"Yes," he lies. _Nothing seems to help much anymore, just time and not having pressure._ "Thank you. I'm sorry if I worried you."

"I'm used to it," Beth says dismissively. "I mean, brothers are always trouble. It's part of the package."

He chuckles. "Still. So. What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh. Umm. Mari actually responded to my weekly email," Beth says with a wince. _Kinda lame when I compare it. Shit. No-go word. Stupid. I mean, kind of stupid. Sorry Seanna._

"You email her every week?"

"Most weeks, yeah. During production month and finals, it's every other." Beth shrugs. "It's kind of become almost a diary, I guess. Just a page or two about what Carver and I are up too, then maybe a page about family news and gossip. She basically never replies but she did to my last." She frowns, biting her lip. "It— it was kind of... weird."

"...What did she say?" he asks, slowly.

"It was weird," Beth repeats with a shrug. "Kind of rambling, mostly about family? Lots of, uh, stuff about Carver. Well, I mean, about making sure I stay with him and look out of him and stuff. Wishes that I have a family," she says slowly. "One that.... ummm. Lasts longer than hers did? It was time-stamped for almost three in the morning, her time, and I think maybe she might have been a little drunk? Maybe?"

Garrett frowns, his voice low. "She wouldn't— did she apologize? For anything?"

"Yeah. A few times. A couple times just kind of... stand-alone fragments almost? Once she says something like 'sorry for messing things up.' And once she said sorry for not being enough." Beth winces, looking at her feet and biting her lip. _Maybe this was a bad idea._

He winces. "She's in trouble. Bad trouble. Dammit, Marian... I wish she'd just call." He rubs his temples.

"Yeah, I kind of got that vibe too," Beth admits. "I was sorta half hoping you might know more? I remembered mom mentioning you were coming by so when tonight fell through..."

He shakes his head. "I haven't heard from her since our birthday. She called to yell at me for angering th— them."

_Them? The what? The— oh. Duh. Templar. Dumbass, who else?_ Bethany shudders, nodding. "Right. Them, got it. Umm. But she's in Antarctica, not a lot of, uh, them out there."

"You'd be surprised. Apparently, her expedition is backed by the Church, so she was pissed I might have put that in jeopardy for her. I guess it worked out, since she didn't come home or yell at me anymore, but..." He shrugs. "She doesn't get that we're of course being watched, all the time. You too, Princess. Keep your nose clean, I'm sure the Church staff at your school are keeping a close eye on you."

Bethany pales, though she forces a smile. "Why- why would I be of any interest to Templar?" she asks with a slightly brittle voice. _No-one knows but Carver. It's fine. You're safe. It's fine._

"You don't have to be a mage to be of interest, Princess. Anything they think they can get out of you, to get to Father. That's their end-game. If they think they can use you to get to Marian or me, they can use us to get at Father. So be careful. Trust nobody, not even family. Pick a few people you'd trust with your life, and tell nobody but them your secrets."

_Way ahead of you, big brother_ , Beth thinks sadly. _But still... maybe..._ "It's... good that you have people. That you trust, I mean. I..." Her eyes dart to the bodyguard and she loses her nerve. _Maybe some other time. When we're alone_. "I'm really happy for you."

"Make sure you choose wisely. I— I got in some trouble, earlier this year. I trusted Fe— Frank, and I trusted someone I shouldn't have. It wasn't until I trusted Varric that things turned around. Without him... I wouldn't be here, talking to you now. So just be sure you're smarter than me." He gives a lopsided grin. "Aw, what am I worried about — it's not like it's hard to be smarter than me. You'll do fine, Princess."

"Hey, my big brother's no dummy," Beth says firmly, lightly smacking his arm. "You're just, hmmm, well, you like to think the best of people. Because you're a good person. Too good by far for this world." _For this family._

"I'm really not," he says, with an awkward chuckle. "Don't try to be like me, Princess. Marian's a much better role model."

"Not for the kind of person I want to be," Beth says simply. _I will **never** abandon my twin like her. _

"Brilliant? Functional? Pretty? Don't tell me it's the gay thing," he adds, frowning a bit.

"I'm way prettier," Beth says automatically, stalling. "And no, of course not. You're gay too, and I just said I'd rather you as a role model, remember? No, it's just..." She shrugs, fidgeting at the lace on her sleeve. "She left."

"She had to," he says, glancing away. "I'm grateful to her for coming out— for showing me why I can't ever do that— but she was miserable. She didn't like to let anyone catch her crying, but... She's much happier now."

Beth winces a little. "Yeah, I suppose so," she admits slowly. "But she didn't have to leave _us_. I mean, the Amell side can be dicks about stuff, but you said Dad was fine with it and none of us would care. Seriously, we don't," she adds, squeezing his hand. "You know my friend Shan, right? Shannon? She's totes bi and double totes awesome." Does she blush, just a hint, when she says that?

Garrett shrugs a shoulder. "Father doesn't mind, but it's not as if he was supportive, either. He just vanished. And you and Carver were gone. Maybe she'll come back, some day, but she needs this right now." _Not that it doesn't hurt. Not that I don't feel just as abandoned by her as I did Father. Not that her hating me is any easier to bear. But I get it, a little. I had to get out from under their thumb too._

"Well, Carver and I totally will be," Beth says firmly. "I'll explain things to Carver tonight, so he can, uh, wrap his head around it." She doesn't have to mention that Carver doesn't always handle shocks well.

Garrett nods. "Let's not... tell him about this," he adds, gesturing to the chair. "Poor lad's got enough to worry about."

Beth raises an eyebrow, her expression disapproving.

"What?" he asks, blinking. "It's not like he needs to know how bad this is. I'm in favor of the least people having horrible nightmares possible."

"He knows," says Fenris, frowning. "You're not as slick as you think you are, Garrett Hawke."

"He's your brother and he'll want to help. Why not let him?" Beth challenges.

"I have help. What I need is... is not to have a scene made over me. Mother means well, but she's... enthusiastic."

"Then that's how we can help, duh." Beth purses her lips, then nods. "You're going to owe me a sushi dinner, _with_ sweet dango, but I'll suffer some 'feminine issues' tonight. Mom will fuss over me for a few days. Let me know if you need Carver or me to get sick or whatever at any point."

"You don't have to do that. I'm heading back to Varric's tonight, I'm not staying around Mother. So I'll be fine." He smiles.

"Alright, but keep it in mind?" She lifts their joined hands and presses them against her cheek.

Garrett turns so he can run his thumb over her cheek. "Of course. Thank you, Princess."

She kisses his finger, then grins up at him. "So..." Her eyes gleam with mischief. "Should I start calling him brother or do you like kinky angle of making it with Unca Varra?"

Garrett's eyes widen, and his jaw drops. "No. Never— Never say that again," he chokes out, trying his best not to think of his _actual_ uncle.

Beth winces, the mischief fading away to regret. "Whoops, sorry, didn't mean to— I mean, he's not our uncle, there's nothing... wrong with it. Just— sorry, bad joke."

He shudders. "Sorry. I walked in on Gamlen the other day. I never want to think about naked uncles again."

_Walked in on—_ "Oh Maker," Beth moans, gagging a little. "I would just _die_. Oh Maker, did he see you? He did, didn't he? Is that why he's acting all weird around you?"

Garrett nods, shuddering again as he sticks his tongue out with displeasure. "Yes. Ugh, Maker. It was the worst experience of my _life_."

Beth shudders in sympathy. "Wow, we definitely lucked out," she mutters, then goes to explain. "Oh, we walked in on Maribell fresh from the shower and with only a towel in front of her. Girl is _fit_. Way better than walking in on Uncle Gamlen. Ugh."

He blinks. "Well. I uh. Kind of suspected," he admits. "I hope she's not still pushing for..."

"For..? Oh, that daft idea of mom's? Nah, she's pretty torn up about it really. She won't go into the full thing, says it's too personal for you to share about without permission." Beth adopts a thoughtful expression. "She's more hungry for friends than a fiancé, near as I can tell. Ugh. Still pissed at mom for putting her in Marian's room though. We _have_ guest rooms she could have redone," she finishes in a bitter tone. _Fucking replacement daughter. Don't really blame Maribell for it, not like anyone told her or anything and she just wants to be accepted._

Garrett's expression darkens. "Of course she did," he says bitterly. "No, it— I told her I'm gay, that's why we can't be married. And then she— well. I'm sure you heard the rest." He takes a deep breath, pushing away the thoughts. "We should go inside. See if there's any cheesecake."

"Greedy guts. Though..." She looks him over. "You're still way too thin. Carver is more solid than you and he's still growing."

Garrett is quiet a moment. "I made some bad choices, Princess. Choices I hope you never have to make. I'm getting better, though. Putting on weight. Varric's got this app that tells me how much to eat, and I'm gonna start working out again."

Beth's eyes narrow. "See that you don't repeat those," she says ominously. Which, given his last few months, is like seeing a kitten trying to pick up a combat knife.

He chuckles. "I got it, Princess. No more bad decisions, ever."

* * *

The next few days, Garrett tries to look after himself, take it slower. He sits with Varric while Mister Li does his implant work; he goes into the office the day after, just for half a day, using his cane and sitting at his desk. He does his best to dodge the rumor mill, to avoid the stares.

Varric, on the other hand, is less relaxed. Now that his implants are almost fully functional, he begins to hear the tuning-fork chime that means he can connect to Fenris, to Cole. Oddly enough, it's softer for Cole, less insistent; even when the blond boy is using his implants, it's less urgent, more of an awareness than a demand. Part of his brain translates the chime as 'agent available' rather than 'please connect immediately'.

He discovers how very much he loves Garrett's touch on his stomach, the sensitive inside of his thighs. He discovers how he loves tasting himself on Garrett's lips, that possessive urge to claim him sated. He discovers how gratifying it is to be the one Garrett clings to when he wakes from a nightmare, the one that can sooth his brow over and over, calling him home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett and Varric are both recovering from their injuries, taking things slowly and taking the time to learn each other's bodies as they can. Unfortunately, life is about to catch back up with them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: character death, grieving

The request to come to Family Dinner a week later is as insistent as it is unexpected. It's not Leandra summoning them, but Malcolm; despite his pretending to still live at home, it's clear by his sleeping in the pool house he no longer rules the roost at the Amell-Hawke household, if he ever did. Garrett dresses up, channeling his worry into his choice of ties— the blue? the red? maybe if he changes his shirt, he could wear the green?— and his endless debates over his cane or his chair. Finally, he brings the chair but uses the cane, wears the green button-down with the blue tie and a grey sweater-vest. He slides into the car beside Varric, chattering on about the latest fighting game tournament he'd seen, anxious but casual.

The family assembles in the parlor. The whole family: Beth and Carver, Leandra and Gamlen, Varric and Garrett, and Maribell. When Malcolm enters, he's accompanied by an unfamiliar guest: a Templar, not in armor but clearly wearing the flaming sword symbol on his tunic, a gun at his hip as a warning.

"Thank you all for coming here today," begins Malcolm, and there's a catch in his voice, a pained weariness in his eyes.

Varric instantly moves between Garrett and the Templar, mini-B appearing in his hand as if by magic. "Explain," he demands, voice cold and hard. A part of him notes the look of shock on Beth's face, the look of almost fear in Maribell's. He doesn't care. _What was Mal (not) thinking, inviting a Templar here without warning Garrett?_

Without much thought, he finds himself linking with not only Fenris but Cole. He still can't see, though the rest of his implants and programs have returned to normal (or better in a few cases, he and Li having taken the chance to do some updating and refactoring). But for some reason, the interface between his eyes and implants just won't come together. His HUD is working and he can 'borrow' the vision of Cole or Fenris easily enough. Cameras as well, though that feels far less natural and is more taxing.

Malcolm raises a hand, warning Varric off. "It's fine. This is Knight-Captain Karrac, acting as Knight-Commander while Stannard is away in the UP for retraining. He's just here delivering some news, then he's leaving." Karrac doesn't say a word; he just studies Varric, studies Garrett trying his best to sink into the sofa behind him, and waits.

"He's brought news," begins Mal again, taking a deep breath. "Please, sit back down. This is— This is difficult enough without—" And his voice deserts him, cracking despite his best efforts.

Varric is sorry, he really is; he hates to make this harder on Mal, but he can't do it. Instead, he moves to stand just behind Garrett, weapon still in hand. "Go on," he says bluntly, eyes on Karrac. "No need to make him say it, Templar. Spit it out." _What is this about? If this is some bullshit about Meredith coming back or some kind of counterclaim..._

"No," says Mal, taking another deep breath, fighting for control. "No. It should come from me. It— There's been an—"

But the ancient forms aren't true. There hasn't been 'an accident'. This is someone's fault, and the representative of that someone is standing right here, as if daring them to shoot him.

"It's Marian," he says, and covers his face with one hand, fighting back the tears. He can't look at Leandra. He can't look his wife in the eye and tell her the horrible truth.

"She's gone."

Varric takes a slow breath, trying to work the words into something that makes sense. _That doesn't make sense (I just talked to her). Marian isn't gone, she's (the rescue ship is just half a day out) just in Antarctica. She can't be (dead) gone._ "Explain. Better," he demands, rage curling in him as he hears Garrett let out a soft cry of pain, a whimper. Again, his words are to Karrac, not Mal.

Carver's hand tightens on Beth's, an expression of both emotional pain and trust. Of loyalty even, as it hides the sudden warmth blooming over her skin. Forces her to fight back panic and control herself before she does something she can never take back, especially with a Templar in the room.

"Knight-Captain Brian Greagoir filed for and received permission to use the Rite of Annulment on the rogue blood mages under his charge. The bodies were burned to prevent demonic possession. His troops are returning with their possessions, but the trip is a long one, so he sent word ahead to notify the next of kin." Karrac doesn't smile, but neither does he look displeased with this news, staring straight into Varric's blind eyes.

Cole, standing two feet to Varric's left, where he won't block anyone's view, says quietly, "He's not sorry she's gone. He's glad. One less blood mage. He wants you to shoot him, so Garrett can be killed as well. Should I hurt him?"

[Not tonight. A mugging, when we're all in public later] Varric sends back without a hint of pity or remorse. "Blood mages. Marian wasn't a blood mage." _This is just a story. He's lying to fuck with us. Or to goad Garrett._

"She was," Karrac reports. "Dr Merrill Sabrae, a known blood mage, was teaching her in secret during their trip. The pair of them murdered Dr Flemeth Korcari and Clemence Hancock, as well as conspiring with Morrigan Korcari to lead to the deaths of two Templar soldiers. Given the unusual nature of the phenomenon they were studying, it is clear one or more of them were infested with demons thanks to their blood magic."

"I know it's... difficult to believe," manages Mal, his voice cracking again. "But we have to recall, none of us were very close to her near the— near the end. She may have done things we had no idea about. It's important to keep calm and—" He can't finish.

"Bullshit," Varric says crisply, giving Mal a furious look. "I spoke to her not three days ago. Where's your proof?" he demands of the Templar. "Forgive me," he spits the words, making them an insult, a curse, "but given your track record with accusations towards Amells, I find myself thinking you a fucking liar."

"You can think what you want, Mr Thedas, but facts are facts," says Karrac. "The Rite has been carried out."

"The father is afraid," says Cole, watching Malcolm. "One pup taken, one killed, the others so small, so vulnerable. He placates the predator, pretends to play dead."

_Teaching his kids to roll over it what **caused** this mess_. "Bullshit," he repeats. "You murdered a citizen of Kirkwall as a power play. Unless you provide proof of Blood Magic..." He bares his teeth. "Templar don't have the right, the legal right, to kill mages on a whim. Or even for their faith. Murder is murder, even if you say a prayer afterwards." _I won't let you pretty this up (Marian isn't dead). This was murder. And I'll see you dead, your superiors in jail or hung, your Order's name smeared as the murderers (can't be dead) you all are._

The sound of Leandra's sobs cut off whatever Karrac was going to say; he takes a moment, letting Gamlen comfort her before he speaks. "That's a matter for the courts to decide."

"Get out," Varric says softly. "We'll settle this the same way you've settled things twice now." _This is done. I'm done. If the Chantry wants to start with assassinations (Just talked to her, she's not dead) and murders, well... I can't take on a country. But I can make Kirkwall a place of nightmares for them._

Karrac glances to Mal; seeing no welcome there, he nods. "Rest assured. We will be watching to contain the spread of blood magic in this glorious city. For the Maker." With a bow, he slips toward the door, leaving the family to their grief.

Malcolm waits until he hears the front door shut, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "If you want to stay the night," he begins, his voice still wavering.

"She didn't," says Garrett, in a small voice. "She never."

"I know," replies Mal. "But— there's nothing we can do now. If you want to stay the night, you're more than welcome, both of you. I need— I need some air."

"Fuck the Maker." Surprisingly, the words don't come from Varric. Nor even Garrett or Mal. They come from Beth. She sounds dazed, but sincere in her declaration.

_She can't be... but what if— she sounded so scared. I told her— (you promised her) she would be okay._ "She asked for help," Varric says numbly, head bowing. "I... I almost had her." _Just four more hours. The storm ended (should have pushed them to keep going) just a few hours ago. My team would have been there in just (if I had found the location earlier) a few more hours. I almost... She can't be dead._

"Please," says Malcolm, and there's an odd sensation in the air, a pressure in their ears, a crackle and snap. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and the sensation fades. "Don't make any rash decisions," he says, firmly. "I couldn't bear it if—" Then he's gone, crossing to the patio doors in three long steps, practically fleeing the room. Ignored by everyone else, Maribell slips from the room, unable to face the intense grief over a woman she's never met but feels constantly in the shadow of. 

_She can't— No. I have to—_ Varric takes a slow breath. Then another. _Garrett_. In and out. _Garrett_. He straightens up. _Garrett_. Walks around to kneel in front of Garrett. _Shagua. My love_. "Look at me," he whispers.

Garrett shudders, rocking back and forth in his seat, staring down at his hands. He doesn't answer, though he flinches as from outside, a cry of pain and rage is heard.

"Carver, let's— Dad," Beth say, needing to be away from this room right now. She forces herself upright, her hand still gripping his hard enough to hurt them both. "Please."

"It's okay, you're safe. It's okay, you're safe," Varric says patiently, voice low and soothing. _Damn them. Damn them to nothingness._

Garrett leans forward, doubling over his stomach, pressing his forehead to his knees, and lets out a low, strangled cry. There's no words in it. There's no words left at all.

* * *

Beth and Carver have never seen their father lose his temper. Even when they misbehave, even when Carver broke his cellphone playing with it, even when Beth broke a business partner's window during a social call, he kept his cool. Hell, even Garrett has barely seen him lose his cool; when the Templar took his son, Malcolm was anxious, pacing, but kept his tone even, treated everyone around him with respect. The other night, when he found out who Leandra was fucking, was the most upset anyone has seen Malcolm Hawke in years.

Until now.

As the twins approach the gazebo in the garden, Malcolm turns to greet them. His chest heaves with the effort of his exertion; his hands are bleeding, though the wall of the gazebo barely seems to have noticed. His hair has pulled loose from his ponytail, and his eyes are puffy and red. He swallows, biting back the first comment that comes to mind, noticeably trying to leash his temper before he lets loose on an innocent target. It's clearly an effort; his hands shake with the force of his anger, but he tamps it down, swallows it back.

"Daddy?" That's all she can say. That's it. Just that one word, a name she hasn't used in years. She swallows, throat tight and eyes stinging with barely leashed tears. Her hand, still gripping Carver's tightly, grows painfully warm. Carver doesn't mind being grabbed so hard; he tugs Beth to him, wrapping his arms around her, trying to protect her from— from their father, apparently.

"Twins," Malcolm says, and he sounds tired, and sad, and a bit angry, all at once. "Go back inside. I'm fine."

"No you're not!" Bethany shouts, only slightly muffled by Carver's shoulder. "None of us are fine!"

"Maybe," he admits. "Go back inside to your mother."

"Please," says Carver, his voice thick. "Can't we help you? Somehow?"

"Your hands," Bethany says softly, twisting in Carver's embrace so she can face their father without pulling away from Carver. "Don't— please don't— that doesn't help. Don't hurt yourself."

Malcolm looks down at his hands, seeming to see the blood for the first time. "Oh," he says quietly. "I'll be alright. Nothing a little Neosporin can't fix."

"That sort of thing does more damage to you than to your body," Bethany says firmly, eyes shadowed. Shrugging her shoulders a little to let Carver know to let her go, she takes a few steps forward, hand outstretched. "Please?"

"I'll see a doctor," Malcolm says. "You have no idea how— I needed an outlet."

"Hurting yourself isn't an outlet," Bethany snaps, her own temper flaring. "It's _wrong_. It hurts you, it hurts your loved ones, it scars. _Always_. Even when there's not a mark on your skin, it scars. Blow up the gazebo next time. Scream and shout at the sky." She takes a few more steps, her other hand rising up. "Hug your children and cry."

But her father takes a step back, away from her, as if afraid to get too close. "I didn't intend— Your mother had my gym renovated into a day spa. I had to hit something."

"Blow up the day spa then," Bethany says dismissively, even as she puts that fact alongside too many others. _Are they... divorcing?_ "Daddy... you won't hurt us. Please?"

"I'm dangerous like this, Beth," he says, his voice a whisper. "Please. Go back inside to your mother, where it's safe."

"Beth... maybe we should go," suggests Carver, eyeing Malcolm.

"No." Beth scowls. "I'm not letting anyone else abandon—" She muffles a sob, hunching over slightly at the self-inflicted reminder. "I _won't_."

His face twists, and Malcolm loses his composure; he turns away, slamming his fist into the wall of the gazebo again. It's clear he's aiming for the support pillars; he could punch through the thin wall easily, but instead he hits where it's firmest, where he can do the least damage to the wall.

The damage to himself, he doesn't seem to notice or care about.

As a concession, however, just before the second blow hits, a shield springs into being around him, shimmering azure; the wall doesn't seem to feel it any harder, but his hand is cushioned by the arcane energies surrounding him.

Beth aborts her automatic lunge to stop him at the sight of the barrier. Her lip quivers and she sucks in a few steadying breathes. She takes a single step back, then her shoulder square up. "No," she mutters to herself. Without a word, she steps onto the gazebo and sits down on the far end from her father. Watching. Waiting. Being with him as best she's able.

Malcolm slams his fists into the pillar again and again, each time accompanied by a flare of blue light. He gives a low, guttural wail as he does, and around him, in the air, wisps flicker in and out of existence, called from the Fade into the real world by the strength of his emotion, the active magic use. His barrier doesn't break; it's clear from the flickering strength of the light around his fists that he's dropping and re-casting it when it gets weak. But he doesn't look at her, doesn't acknowledge her presence.

Then, all at once, he's done. He presses his forehead to the pillar, and fat tears roll down his cheek, broken sobs forcing their way out from his chest.

She waits another moment, then one more, just to be safe. Rising carefully and smoothly, she moves over to sit down next to him. "You're not alone," she manages to say through her own tears, reaching for his hand until she thinks better and redirects for his forearm.

The tears don't last long, certainly not as long as the brief spat of anger. Through it all, Carver hangs back, unsure how to approach, what to say; Malcolm looks up to his son first, making sure he is still here, before he turns to his daughter.

"I am sorry," he says, and his voice is his usual even tone. "I never meant any of you children to see me like this."

His daughter— his _youngest_ daughter smiles sadly. "I never wanted to see you have to grieve either." Her lip trembles. "But it's..." _Nice. Seeing how much..._ "Do you— do you always hide when you... feel?"

"...You asked me once, when you were little, why I take pills every night before bed. It's to regulate my emotions. I have— I am not— I do what I can, but without them, I feel things more strongly. It's too much to cope with. This... this broke through." He wipes at his eyes with one hand, wincing a little.

"...can I try them?" asks Carver, his voice hoarse.

"No," his father replies, looking down at his hands. "No. If you can feel things, feel them. Let them— let them temper your judgement."

Beth growls softly. "Emotions are good," she says firmly. "But... if..." She licks her lips, looking at Carver. "It would be, umm, _damaging_ to the Amell image if one of us went to a psychiatrist, right? Openly went, I mean?"

"Fuck the Amells," says Malcolm, in a low growl. "Your brother goes to one. It's been helping. If you need to talk to someone, I'll make it happen. Or— Hell. We'll all go. Ask Varric for his number. I won't lose any more children. Never again."

Beth looks over at Carver, a hopeful expression in place. Carver glances back, nods once. "Yeah. Okay," he says, swallowing as he tries to ignore the tears dripping down his cheeks.

Beth lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Both of you."

Malcolm looks away. "Promise me, Bethany, Carver. If you— if either of you — ever feel like something happens, and you'd rather be dead than live with it? You _call me_." He shudders. "If you're ever in any danger, you _call me_ , or you set off your anklet. Our family has a billion dollars, a private yacht, hell, I can steal the helicopter. We'll find you, and we'll save you. I promise."

Carver nods. "Yeah. Okay."

"Totally. I will call you, Uncle Varric," _or possibly brother-in-law Varric, which, weird_ , "Garrett and maybe Shan or even Cyndi. I have no pride about things that will hurt Carver."

"Good," says Malcolm, letting out his breath slowly. "Good. I love you. Both of you. Don't forget that, okay? I know I haven't been there for you like I should have, but I thought— I hoped— you knew that I loved you. All four of you."

Beth squeezes his arm a little. "Sometimes, it's easy to... forget it for a little bit. When you miss the second play or concert in a month because you were working late. When your secretary signs an Easter card— yeah, I noticed that," she says with a smirk. "She really doesn't do it well, I'm better at— umm. But yeah, we know you love us. You're just..." She bites her lip, glancing towards Carver.

"You're not there," says Carver, looking away. "At least Mother calls, writes. You just... don't."

Mal looks down at his hands, willing them to stop shaking. "... Marian knew. She was older, she— she had to have known."

"Yeah. I'm sure she d-did," Beth says in a small voice. "But, umm, maybe try and... say it more? Maybe we can say it now? Together?"

"We will," says Malcolm. "And I'll call more. All the time. And you can call me — I'll give you the bypass codes, to ring my phone even if I'm in a meeting. I won't— I won't let this family get any more fractured."

Losing her control, Beth bursts into tears and lunges to hug her father. Blindly, she reaches out towards her twin with one hand. She can't find it; a moment later, it's clear why: Carver wraps his arms around her, and his father, clinging to the remains of his family with all his might. _Please. Maker. Let things be okay now. Make this stop._

* * *

Garrett isn't beside Varric when he wakes. A moment, and his implants tell him where his lover is: in the kitchen, his bracelet having been there for some time. He must have woken, gotten hungry, went to make food. That's alright. Good, even. It means he's not having nightmares, curling up beside Varric. He's been having too many nightmares of late.

Varric slips out of his bed, checking his security system to be sure it hasn't been disturbed; from Fenris's eyes, he can see the hallway, the dogs. When he leaves his bedroom, Fenris falls into step beside him— a little more worrying. Shouldn't he be guarding Garrett?

The pair head to the kitchen. He doesn't see Garrett at first; as he skims his familiar kitchen, he sees a chair pulled out from the table, but no humans.

Fenris stops dead in his tracks, frozen. And Varric _knows_.

He races to the table, taking in the sight behind it: Garrett's legs, the spreading pool of blood, the overturned bowl. He runs, fast as his legs can carry him, but he doesn't get closer, can't reach Garrett. The mage isn't breathing. He needs first aid, _now_. But he can't get there. The faster he runs, the further away Garrett is.

Behind him he can hear footsteps, shouting, metal. From his HUD, he can see Fenris being taken by thugs, being handcuffed, being dragged away, but _Garrett_ is _dead_ and he can't reach him, he can't—

"It's not real," a voice says in his ears. The other voice, the blond boy, that's who's missing. "It's not real."

Varric's eyes snap open, but he can't see anything through them other than his HUD. Two windows: Fenris's shows only darkness, but Cole's shows Varric's own face, an unfamiliar pillow and sheets.

_Garrett. Garrett_! There's little thought, little rational thought, as he bolts upright. Thankfully Cole is alert enough to pull back before the dwarf headbutts him by accident. "Wh— Garr— what—" Groping blindly, Varric finds the warm, sleeping body next to him. Long hours spent touching, stroking, tasting his lover allows him to identify him without sight and the dwarf nearly melts in relief.

Garrett turns, whimpering in his sleep as he gropes for Varric's hand, needing his lover's presence, needing to be sure, to be _safe._

Varric gives it eagerly, almost greedily. "Right here, shagua, right here," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against Garrett's brow. _What was that? Some kind of— of— (terrible) memory misfire? Fuck, I thought my implants (need to call Li tom— today) were almost fixed. And that shouldn't be (somehow, Garrett is responsible) possible! Not like that, not mixed up so smoothly._

"You are safe," says the blond boy, as Garrett's brow smooths, as the mage curls up around Varric's body.

"Cole," Varric says, trying not to tense up again. _That was real. Him, when I woke up_. "What— what are you doing in here?"

"Keeping you safe, Zhǔjī sān."

"...right," the dwarf says, resting his head back down. _Not like looking up to see him does anything_. "How did you detect the malfunction?"

"What malfunction?"

"The.. memory access scramble or whatever," he explains in a low voice. "Or did I make a noise?"

"Memory...? Oh! You had a nightmare. I saw your turmoil and woke you."

Out of sheer instinct, the dwarf lifts his head to stare at Cole's direction. "The fuck you say? Cole, I'm a dwarf," he explains, voice gentling, turning patient, at the end. _Poor sod, no memories, probably only minimal (just mission critical) explanations of life._

"Yes. And no. What is a Dwarf?"

_What_. "Me. I'm a dwarf, a Shirén. Child of the Stone... _Dreamless_? We don't have a connection to the Fade. Naturally, I mean."

"If a Dwarf is one with no connection to the fade, you are currently not a Dwarf."

"What."

"You are not dreamless. You have dreamed. But you will be a Dwarf again soon, as soon as you want to be."

Varric reaches up with his free hand to rub at his temple. "...Cole. Start over, from the beginning, and explain what you know about this topic. Try and be as clear as you can."

"You are connected to myself and Fenris, and we are connected to the Fade. So, you dream. Just as Fenris does. Fenris is napping, as you are. So, dream."

"What? That doesn't— it doesn't work like..." He trails off, brow furrowed in thought. _Wait... if I can share senses, then why not (because do not want) memories? Dreams (nightmares) come from the Fade (or so they say), but they route through the brain. So..._ "Second hand dreams," he murmurs.

"Yes," says Cole, with a smile Varric can't see and a nod he can infer. "When you disconnect, you will be Dwarven again."

"Neat," Varric mutters as he carefully detangles from the other two. _Need to put up blocks, prevent linking during sleep._ "Don't mention this to Fenris."

"Alright. It will be our secret." As his vision winks out, Varric gets the impression Cole is pleased.

"That makes you happy?" Varric asks curiously.

"Zhǔjī sān has many secrets. Secrets are shared only with those Zhǔjī sān trusts."

"Call me Varric," he says after a moment.

"Why?"

"It's my name, for one. Have you noticed what others call me? Any patterns?"

Cole frowns, giving it some thought. "Garrett Hawke calls you Sir when he isn't hiding his feelings, his master and owner, the center of his life. Unit Fenris calls you _Dwarf_ , most of the time, when he is angry. The others say, Mr Thedas, and fear you just a little."

_Not... exactly where I was gonna go with that (Sir) but I can work with it._ "See, different people call me different things. Those that work for me call me Mister Thedas, as you say. But Mal, Lily, and Garrett call me Varric. Not at work, not when I'm acting as their boss or lover, but otherwise." A pause. "Cole, new order. Don't watch people having sex unless you get permission. Permission from them, that they remember giving."

"Alright, Varric." Cole sounds less happy about this order.

"Sex is private. It's hurtful to take it when it's not offered, even just the sight of it."

"I will do as commanded, Varric." Still, he sounds a bit disappointed.

"You seem upset," Varric notes, not sure if he wants to know but also wanting to know.

"Direct observation is beneficial for understanding."

"Not found porn yet? Look for amature stuff, more realistic."

"Porn?" he asks, blinking.

"Images, video, drawings and so forth of people have sex," Varric explains with amusement.

"Ah. These are... insufficient."

"Insufficient?" _That could mean a lot of (awkward) things._

"They are only images. There's no _life_ in them."

"Do you know what strip clubs are?" Varric asks slowly.

"Yes. They are very interesting."

"It's fine to watch people in those, as long as they're not behind a locked door. Or in the restroom."

"I understand and will comply."

Garrett shifts a little, clutching at Varric, his brow furrowing in sleep— a warning sign that he's waking from whatever nightmare is plaguing him now.

"Go ahead and patrol the grounds," Varric says softly, attention shifting back to Garrett. "Keep us safe."

"Yes, Varric," says Cole, and then he is gone; the faint almost-chime, the awareness of his presence fades, leaving Varric alone with his lover again.

"Mar," murmurs Garrett, letting out a soft whimper.

"Sssh," Varric murmurs. "Shhhh. You're safe. You're with me. I have you."

"Varric," he whispers, and some of the tension fades. Garrett's eyes flutter open, and he shifts his grip, draping his arm across Varric's lap instead of clinging to his leg. "I had an awful dream that—" Varric doesn't say a word, just pull him close and rocks. Garrett rests his head on Varric's chest, letting his silent sobs soak into Varric's shirt. _Marian..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family has received dreadful news: Marian is gone, killed by Templar as part of an Annulment of the whole expedition. Between that and the obvious trouble between their parents, the twins and Garrett are clearly having a rough summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: grieving, mention of torture.

Garrett and Varric hole up in his room the rest of the day, not bothering about food, not bothering about anything but each other and their shared grief. In the middle of the night, after another nightmare, Garrett throws out a tentative plan and lets Varric expand on it; the next morning, he knocks on Beth's door, asks if the twins will join him for an outing.

And so, the twins, Fenris, Varric, Cole, and Garrett all load up onto Varric's yacht— considerably larger than Leandra's, and considerably more technological, which isn't ideal for Garrett's purposes, but Varric assures him he's got zones set up so he can kill most of the tech on the aft deck for them without ruining anything important. Like the navigation.

"Thank you for coming," Garrett says quietly, sitting cross-legged on the deck, both twins facing him with their backs to the railing. "Varric assures me we're not being watched, followed, or listened in on. We're in international waters now— you don't have to go far, really, to get out of Kirkwall jurisdiction. This trip... anything you tell me, from now until we're back in Kirkwall, anything any of us says, is top secret. On pain of death. Alright?"

When they both nod, he takes a deep breath, rubs at his bleary eyes, and continues: "Do either of you have magic?"

Carver wasn't sure what to think when he and his twin were invited out for this early-morning, top-secret outing; he really wasn't sure what to think when Garrett launched into his explanation. But if he'd asked himself, if he'd tried to predict, it would never in a million years have been that question.

His breath catches in his throat, and he stills. He stares past Garrett's shoulder, not meeting his brother's eyes, but forcing himself not to look at his twin, not to even think of looking at his twin. _This one's on you, Beth._

Beth had kind of assumed that this trip was about, well, Marian. Or maybe Dad. Both their parents. Maybe some kind of shared grieving thing, maybe just getting out of the city and away from cameras or whatever. Their older brother pulling back the curtain of what he knows about their parents. Because Beth isn't stupid, not that they've been doing all that well at hiding things. Her dad sleeping in the pool house isn't exactly subtle. Whatever it's about, Beth wasn't going to turn down the chance to put on her swimsuit (not her bikini, not here) and lay out in the warm, warm sun so she can just think. Or not think, if she could manage it.

But this...

A nervous giggle slips out of her mouth as she stares at him. "What makes you ask that? Brother?" She doesn't even notice her hand shifting over to grip Carver's very, very tightly.

"Because I don't know," he replies easily. "You're almost adults, and the odds are slim that both Ma— my twin and I have magic to the degree we do, and neither of you have any. If not, that's fine. But if you do, if you're hiding it, if you haven't had training... I want to help. I want you to be able to defend yourselves."

Beth licks her lips. "Wouldn't, umm, wouldn't no-one ever knowing... ever be safest?" she asks in a tiny voice, eyes on the deck of the ship. "Never using it? Pushing it away, p-pushing it d-down until it's less than a spark?"

"No," he says quietly. "It's a good instinct. Nobody knowing is good. But a hidden knife only saves you if you know how to use it. If the time comes, and you're backed up against a wall, and you grab the pointy end... it's no good to you. I can teach you how to use it, how to protect yourself."

Beth trembles, silent and tense, for a long moment. Then she slowly holds out her free hand towards Garrett. A breath laster, there's a small tongue of flame, curling and dancing around her fingers in a manner that's strangely familiar to Garrett.

"Good," he breathes, his heart clenching. "Good. And Carver?"

"Not me," whispers Carver, his voice hoarse. "I tried. I can't."

"But look," Beth says quickly, twisting to rest her still burning hand on Carver's arm. "It doesn't burn him. It's hot but it never burns him."

"Okay. Okay," says Garrett. "I can show you some self-defense tricks. Or Fen can. You need to be able to defend yourself too. But Beth... what do you know? So far?"

She lowers her hand, the flame going away. "Mostly just that," she admits. "You do it with that ice spark all the time so I just... but then I realized how dangerous it was when Mercy Tollins..." She swallows thickly at the mention of the famous Blood Mage that killed some two hundred people in a mall in the UP. Her entire Circle being made Tranquil afterwards had been filmed and smuggled onto the internet by magic rebels to try and gather support. Beth was only eight or nine when that happened, but she saw the video long before she was ten. "I never manifest... that's the first time in half a decade."

"Alright," he says quietly. "Carver, I want you to train with Fen. I'm going to walk Beth through the basics, and then... I am going to teach you the basics of blood magic. That's why we're out here in international waters."

"Isn't that— isn't that dangerous?" demands Carver. Beth's head had snapped up at the word 'blood' and she's just staring at Garrett with wide eyes.

"Top secret," he reminds them. "But... Yes. I know blood magic."

"Oh," Beth says, trying to reconcile 'blood magic' and 'big brother.' "But— how? Why?"

"For exactly this reason— so you know how it's done, so you don't learn it on accident when backed into a corner. So you don't hurt yourself trying when you're desperate. I'll teach you how it's done, the basics, and you'll never be able to accidentally do it again, because you'll recognize the feeling."

"You can do it on accident!" Beth nearly shrieks.

"Yes," he says quietly. "That's how most people do it. They're being pressured, maybe tortured. Backed into a corner, Templar closing in. They get desperate. They reach, and they find blood magic. They don't know what they're doing. If they survive, they're Tranquiled shortly after."

Carver's grip on Beth's hand tightens even further, white-knuckled. "I need— I need—" Unable to finish, she just half lunges, half flops into Carver's lap a trembling mess. _Blood magic. Tranquil. Killed. Annulled. Is that— is that what happened too- did Marian—_

Carver wraps his strong arms around Beth, glaring daggers up at Garrett. "That won't happen. Not to Beth."

"No," he agrees. "Probably not. More likely, you get hurt protecting her, and she uses _your_ blood. Kills you, gets away."

Beth stiffens, head snapping up so she can glare daggers at Garrett. "Shut your mouth," she snarls at Garrett. "I would never— _never_ hurt Carver."

"Good. Then learn, so you don't do it on accident." His gaze in return is cold, ruthless.

"Fine," she snaps. "I just— I just wanted a fucking minute to fall apart," she mutters, looking like he'd slapped her.

Garrett flinches, looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry. I— this is hard for me, too, Beth. I just keep thinking, if Marian knew what she needed to defend herself..."

And just that is enough to deflate her anger and hurt, leaving a hollow shell of regret. "...yeah. I— yeah. What if she— Was that— what that how it happened? Do you know? Did they hurt her until she, umm," she trails off, making a vague gesture instead.

"I— I don't know anything, Bethany," he whispers, using her full name in a vain hope of distancing himself from the well of pain. "We last spoke on our birthday. She yelled at me. Called me an idiot. Asked if I was really okay. Made me promise to stay out of trouble. And now I'll never—"

Beth scrambles over to him, wrapping him in her arms. "I miss her too," she whispers. "And I'm angry with her for leaving, for never replying and I feel guilty about it and— and I just feel so many things."

"At least she wrote to you," he says, swallowing. "Later, can I— can I see the email she sent? About family and...?"

"Yeah, yeah of course," she says hurriedly, resting her cheek against his neck. "Do you want a print out?"

"Yeah," he whispers, shivering. "But— please. Let me arm you both. Let me do this for you."

She nods, pulling back from him. "Okay," she whispers. "Does... does it hurt?"

"Blood magic? No. Drawing blood so it wakes the magic in it, yes. But only a little."

"Oh. I thought— you made it sound like it could just... happen." Beth flushes as she moves to seat next to Garrett. _I was kind of picturing blood bursting from my eyes and ears, cresting from a wave of extreme emotional distress and drama. But yet again, anime betrays me._

"It— it can. Easier if you're bleeding already. It— Movies make it look like it's bloodless, when they come for you, but... The Templar are fighters. They have spiked gauntlets, swords, guns, batons. There will be blood, if they come for you."

"Oh," Beth repeats dully, shuddering. "How do you... I've never heard of any of this, not that seems— you wouldn't lie, not about this. And you wouldn't say if you weren't sure so..."

Garrett pushes her back a little so he can reach into his pocket, pull out a pocket knife. He flips it open; with a smooth, practiced motion, he cuts across his palm. A moment later, a barrier slides into place around him, blue marbled with a tinge of red. The cut seals; the blood dried on his hand seems dull, old, brown. Carver hisses, looking around quickly, hoping Varric isn't lurking somewhere nearby with that creepy silent bodyguard. The deck is clear of witnesses, as far as Carver can tell. In the bridge, Varric snorts with amusement at the lad as he watches from a camera.

"That— that's it?" She doesn't sound disappointed, just stunned that something built up to be so terrible and horrific is so simple. So, well, boring looking.

"That's all. For just that little bit, they make us Tranquil." His voice is even and deadly serious.

"That's what they claim Marian did. That's what they claimed you did, " Beth murmurs, unable to look away from his hand.

"I don't know if Marian did. But I— I know how. I didn't use it on Maribell. I swear."

Beth winces. "Sorry, I didn't— I wasn't going to ask or talk about, uh, that."

"It's alright," he says, glancing away. "You deserve to know. And— and I asked Mother this morning, she gave me one of her Valium."

Beth wrinkles her nose. "Hate those things," she mutters. "I don't need to know anything. If you want to talk about it or think you should... I'll listen. And give plenty of hugs and k— uh, no kisses; brother. Sorry, habit."

Carver cuts in before Garrett can speak: "No, he's right, Beth. We need to know. What does it look like? What do they look for? What sorts of things get someone caught? I never in a million years thought Marian would—"

Garrett shrugs a shoulder, looks away. "They first started coming for me when... I got in some trouble with the cops. A few times. So they must have tipped off the Templar. They were sniffing around my work, asking HR for my file, and there was a lady in HR who gave it to them. So that's lesson one: anyone can be an enemy. Watch your back. Don't date someone connected to Templar. Don't make enemies if you can help it. You keep your nose clean and your head down."

Beth shudders a little, thinking of her friends: Shannon, Cyndi, Florienne, Neria, and the others. Some of them, she could never see it. But others? Easily. And worse, even the ones she can't imagine betraying her, specifcally, though they might another, nameless mage, well, she still can't really see her trusting them anyway. It's been too long just between her and Carver. Even telling Garrett, her beloved big brother, had been hard, so hard she'd likely have never broached it herself. "I already... do most of that. But... so did Marian. And they still..."

Garrett nods, swallowing. "I don't know. But I know... the more you get wrong, the more likely they come for you. So. Number one is, do nothing wrong. I think... I think I fucked things up for Marian. They sent Templar on her expedition because of me. So that's number two: even if you cut ties, they'll use ties against you. So it doesn't matter. Keep an eye out anyway."

"Three..."

He takes deep breath, summoning up the mote of blue light, twirling it in and out and around his fingers to steady himself as he talks. "When they come for you, they assume you're dangerous. They'll come in hot. They'll hit you, first and foremost, with as many sucker-punches as they can pull off. They want you off balance, and they want to push you as hard as they can, so you seem guilty. Never seem guilty. They're going to hurt you. Expect it. If you see flaming swords, expect pain. And not clean, easy pain. They broke my knee. I don't know if it broke the first time, but they knew where it'd been damaged before, they kicked it while arresting me. They broke it again in Maribell's basement, with a cudgel. Hit it again when I wouldn't talk. They're going to hurt you, and you can't let that matter. You have to think of something worth the pain. Something you want to hold fast to, no matter what. They'll want you to say or do something, and you can't do it. That will make them hurt you more, but the only way to make it stop is to let them win, so you have to want something more than you want the pain to stop." He says all this in a flat tone, staring into the middle distance, never once letting his eyes focus. But the mote moves faster and faster around his fingers, between them.

_Do nothing wrong. Be perfect. Great._ Despite her sarcasm, she knows he's not wrong. That it's not about being perfect, exactly, but being perfect in the right ways. Hard but less hard. _Doesn't matter? Like hell it doesn't; ties give you support. Dad and Un— uh, Dad and Varric were able to save you because they knew you were in trouble, because you were close. Three?_ As 'Three' is explained, she pales. By the time he gets to 'flaming swords' she's reaching for her twin, her hands far too warm. _Carver. Carver is worth pain. He has to be. What else could be worth more than my other half, ma'win?_

Garrett takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Four," he says, and Carver flinches.

"Please, stop!"

"Four," repeats Garrett, still staring off into the middle distance, as if he hasn't heard. "They'll keep hurting you. They'll say things to you, they'll threaten things. They'll threaten people. They'll say and do things that make you want to give in. Don't believe them. They will lie to you. Or they'll threaten things they can't, we won't let them do. Believe nothing.

"Five."

"Don't be noticed. Have families, friends, allies. Have faith in them. Don't believe the Templar," Beth murmurs. _Just a lecture. Just a lecture, like any other lesson. Just a lecture. You need to remember it, it's important, just an important lecture_. "Don't be noticed. Have friends and family, allies. Have faith in them. The Templar lie, always."

"Five," repeats Garrett, and he takes another deep breath, amending what he was about to say. "You hear things, from other mages sometimes. When I got this talk, I got on the internet, and I found number five myself. Five is to have... "

But he can't do it. He can't. For the first time in his life, Garrett understands why Malcolm didn't give his son and daughter number five, when he was taken out on the boat and given his version of this talk. He bows his head, hands shaking, as he thinks the words, but can't bring himself to say them: _Five is to have an exit plan. As you practice, think about what you can do, and how it can be used to kill. And think about how it can be used to end you, before they make you Tranquil. You can let them make you Tranquil, there's no shame in that, but if you don't want that, you have to have a plan, and you have to do it quick, before they get the silk and collars on you._

"Five is to have hope," he says instead. "If they make you Tranquil, we'll being you back. There's a way to undo it, and I know it, and Dad knows it. We'll get you back. So don't be afraid."

"Hope," Beth repeats softly. "Wait, there's— that's an urban legend. Isn't it?" She turns to look at Carver, eyes wide. "You know how to undo— _Dad_ knows how to undo Tranquility?"

"Yes. He's seen it done. So even if they— even if they hurt you, you hang in there and you come home safe, okay?" He pushes up to his feet, hands shaking, turning away. "Stay here," he says quickly, and he breaks into a jog, running for the comms room, searching for Varric.

Bethany jolts a little when he rushes off, turning to look at Carver. "You— you okay?" she asks, needing to fret and care about someone to calm herself down. Carver shakes his head, tugging his twin into a tight hug.

As soon as Garrett steps past the barrier, the nearest intercom crackles. "Bridge." Garrett breaks into a sprint, heading for the bridge; as he sees the door open, he drops to his knees, wraps his arms around Varric, clinging to the shorter man tightly, silent, his whole body shaking. Varric pulls him backup to his feet, then a few steps over to a chair. Dropping into the chair, he brings Garrett with him so he's curled up in his lap. "I have you. I have you, my brave, loving Shagua."

Garrett nods against Varric's chest, shuddering. "I couldn't— I couldn't," he whispers. "I couldn't tell them the real point five. I can't. Can you? For me?"

"That is the real Five," Varric says softly. "Hope is the best thing to leave that on. It worked for you, didn't it?"

"They need to know," he says, his voice muffled as he presses his face to Varric's chest. "They have to think about it. In advance. They need a plan."

"Why? If it can be fixed, then, why?"

"Choices," he says, swallowing. He takes a deep breath, then pulls his head back so he can be heard more clearly: "If you have to make that choice, and you don't have a plan for it, you'll fuck it up. You'll cripple yourself and still be in their hands."

Varric studies him for a moment, then kisses his forehead. "Alright. We'll explain all the options but make it clear that there's better and worse. Together. Is that alright?"

He blanches. "I can't," he whispers. "I can't. I can't. What if— what if— I can't do it."

"I'll start. I'll finish. But you should be there with me, to be there for them. To add anything you want, if you can manage. If all you can do is hug them, that's plenty. Promise."

"If anything— if anything _happens_ , it'll be my fault," he whispers.

"No," Varric says sharply. He reaches over to grab Garrett's chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "Look at me. _Look_." He tries, but he can't; when he meets Varric's eyes, he flinches away. Varric waits, patiently. "Garrett, look at me. I won't hurt you, but I need to be sure you're paying attention."

"I'm listening," he whispers, his eyes looking past Varric's left ear.

_That's... not typical (later)._ "Alright, that's good. This is not your fault. Marian's death was not your fault. _No_. The Templar did it. Say it."

"We don't know what happened," he whispers. "Not really."

"You're right. I have people up there but they haven't... They're still investigating. But whatever did happen, you didn't do. The Templar acted. Made the decision to... Do it."

"Maybe," he whispers. "Or maybe they tried to make her Tranquil and she—" He shudders, shoulders hunching. "Burns," he says, abruptly. "Burns, and a stopped heart, and no other damage. That's what your men would find."

"She's a smart girl. You really think she didn't come across those rules herself at some point?"

"Beth won't. It's— she— she doesn't go looking for this stuff. She doesn't know how to find it."

"You sure? Managed to hide being a mage for a decade plus," Varric points out. "Which I would not have thought possible for someone in her high profile." _Kind of makes me wonder what else she's been keeping quiet._

Garrett takes a deep breath, then another. "I... you're right. The point of this trip was to... to talk through things Father won't talk to them about. To prepare them. They need a plan, and I can help— I can help them make one."

Varric hesitates, suddenly unsure now that he's convinced Garrett. _Annoying brain_. "Walk me through it. If you had known about Mal's trick... what would you have done?"

"I— I don't know. I really don't. I couldn't have— the pain was— I thought they were going to _take_ me again. Even if I knew I could be made unTranquil, the pain they put me through alone was— I couldn't have let them take me again."

Varric slides his hand from Garrett's chin to the back of his head, pulling him close so their foreheads touch. "Oh my love," he whispers softly. "Safe now. Safe with me. Alright? Safe with me." _Okay, so that's... a thing. Beth isn't as tough as Garrett (as tested, honed). She'd deal with a fair bit for Carver's sake but..._

"Love," he whispers, something lost and broken in his voice. "Yours." He remains there, eyes closed, just breathing, just being, for several long moments. Finally, when he opens his eyes, he is more steady, more sure. "Alright. I can do this."

"Maybe," Varric starts slowly, voice thoughtful. "Maybe we don't tell her to have a plan. We just give her the tools if she ever needs them. Give her some lessons and make sure to include at least one 'never do this' lesson."

"But if she doesn't..."

"Then we rescue her. Going to do that anyway." Varric hesitates, then sighs. "The more I think about this, the more I wish you didn't have your own plan so readily at hand."

"It— It helps. Knowing I can leave at any point. That I have an escape," he says quietly.

"Maybe it shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because— because you might take it. Because I can't lose you. Because the twins need you. Because your father can't lose another child. Because you're loved and wanted and dammit the world would be so much darker without you in it," Varric whispers, tears falling from blind eyes.

Garrett rests his head on Varric's shoulder, tears soaking the dwarf's shirt. "That's it exactly," he whispers. "If I tell Beth to prepare, she might— it's in your head, all the time. Ready. It's like waiting for the axe to fall, waiting for things to get bad enough to use it. Just like waiting for Mother to marry me off, waiting for things to end, waiting to lose you— waiting for the Templar to come for me again. Waiting for the worst."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I... I like having plans, having all my options thought out and readied but this—" He shakes his head. "You're right. We'll teach her how to use her magic, teach her what not to do. But we leave her with hope, not escape."

"I hate them," he whispers. "I keep thinking I should march on their stupid little fort, kill as many of them as possible before they—"

"Well. Want to help me make their life difficult? I'm building up momentum to start some legal and illegal countermeasures to Chantry power in Kirkwall. Law changes, policy changes, PR shit, sabotage, protests, 'accidents' for the worst offenders, blackmail, the works."

"Yes," he says instantly. "I'm not— I'm not good at that stuff, but if I can help, yes, use me."

"Maybe tonight," Varric says, adding a little burr to his voice, though the quirk of his lips takes any pressure out of it.

Garrett pulls his head back, searching Varric's face for signs he's joking. "Yes," he says, with a small smile. "Tonight. I want— I want you to hurt me, tonight."

Varric nods slowly. "Slowly, but okay," he agrees before kissing him thoroughly. "Should probably— go back out," he gasps after a minute or two.

_Fuck it. I want—_ "Yeah," he gasps, shaking his head a bit. _Bethany. This is important_. "Let's find Fen and get the training underway."

"Yeah. Anticipation, remember?" Varric says with a smirk. Of course, he can use his medical implant to at least reduce the physical effects, the bastard. "Got a lesson plan in mind?"

"Beth needs to know the basics of magic, and blood magic. Carver needs self-defense lessons." he shrugs. "They have to protect themselves. Shields, healing. First aid, self defense."

Varric hums softly. "Wonder if he'd be interested in some target practice," he muses. "Crossbows aren't illegal," he almost singsongs, rather pleased with that little loophole.

"We don't have a ton of time today— but that we can do in Kirkwall, no sweat."

"Yeah, actually, maybe see if both of them are interested," Varric continues, looking absurdly pleased at the idea of teaching the twins to use his prefered weapon. "You too— be good to have a weapon the Templar can't bitch overly much about."

"I'm a good shot with a gun by now," admits Garrett. "Crossbow can't be that different."

"That's adorable," Varric coos, patting Garrett's cheek. "Up you go brat. Time for school."

* * *

Malcolm has to admit, Leandra did a better job of renovating the poolhouse than he'd have done were he in her shoes. She'd replaced the main area, where she'd previously set up a little day spa, with a hotel-like living situation: a bed, a desk, a mini fridge, even a folding screen to partially bisect the area, make it feel more like two rooms. She'd replaced the steam room with a toilet and bath, to augment the shower already present in the antechamber to it. She'd even bought a rug to cushion bare feet at night rather than walk on tile floor.

He still hates living here. _Just for six weeks_ , he tells himself, struggling to focus on his company's financial reports at the little unfamiliar desk. _Then I can be back to my flat where everything's how I like it._

The last thing he expects is a knock at the door. He frowns, checking the time. _The kids are still on that fishing trip, and Lea wouldn't be caught dead pretending to interact with me without someone to perform for. Gamlen, perhaps?_ He double-checks that his robe is tied shut over his pajamas as he moves to answer the door. _Good thing I filled that emergency Valium script last night. I know I ought not to beat him to death, but yesterday it was difficult to stop myself._

Malcolm finds not a one of his guesses standing there, face professionally placid. "Mister Amell," Captain Vallen says, nodding her head. "One of your staff directed me here." _Why are you wearing a bathrobe over clothing in a poolhouse? The robe could make sense, if it was over a bathing suit, but flannel?_

His eyes widen slightly, but he steps aside, ushering her into the small space. "Ah, Captain Vallen! Forgive me, I wasn't expecting..."

Mentally, he takes stock: his tone even, now that he's medicated; his eyes puffy, but his hair tied back neatly once more, out of his face. Breakfast dishes and last night's dinner dishes left out on the counter, waiting to be taken to the kitchen, but nothing else out of place. The bed was made, part of his attempt to regain control over himself and his life with the morning. _Nothing out of the ordinary here._

"Please, have a seat," he continues, before realizing there's only really one place to sit: the desk chair he'd just vacated. _I'll stand, then_ , he decides quickly. "What can I do for you?"

_Are you living here?_ Aveline doesn't mean to ask that out loud, but once the words slip out, she doesn't try to take them back. Instead, she meets his eyes firmly and waits for an answer.

He gives a strained chuckle. "For the moment. I seem to have developed a snore over the past few months, one my wife is quite put off by. Hazards of getting old, I suppose."

Aveline arches an eyebrow and looks out a window pointedly. "I hope you're seeing a doctor, what with having a snore so terrible that you need to have some hundred yards and several walls to block it out."

"Of course. What can I do for you?" he asks, and his voice betrays some of the exhaustion he feels. _This can't be about my living situation. Garrett's case? Something else?_

"Perhaps you'd like to sit?" she suggests, gesturing at the care with concern in her eyes.

"Far be it from me to sit while a lady stands," he says, rubbing at his temple. "Is this about my son?"

"No. And I'm a Captain and a guard, not a lady. Please, you look... Please. Sit."

About to argue, he hesitates, then returns to his chair. "Forgive me. I am... it has been— I have received some distressing news just yesterday, and I am not at my best. What can I do for you, Captain?"

That gets a wince. "That is possibly the nature of my visit, actually. May I ask what the bad news was?" she asks, gentling her tone as much as she can.

"I— My daughter..." he begins, but his throat closes around the words, and he covers his face with one hand, using the time to try and compose himself. "Forgive me," he says, a few moments later. "I have taken additional medication but I am not quite... I am not quite myself nevertheless."

_Damn. So that rumor— but then why didn't..._ "I see. I've heard... rumors, unconfirmed ones, about a squad of Templar returning to Kirkwall with only half their number. And that they carried out a non-Circle Rite of Anull—"

Malcolm strangles the cry as best he can, but there's still a pained noise slipping past his lips, a flinch. He takes a deep breath, then another; abruptly, he gets up, crossing to the other half of the room in search of the little bottle on his nightstand. He shakes a pill into his hand, then stares at it for a moment before he sighs, puts it back, closes the bottle. _No. This hurts. It's going to hurt. He said not to take more than one. (Damn the church! Damn the Maker!)._ Instead he takes a deep breath, yet again, staring down at the bottle as he searches for that place of emptiness he'd become too familiar with during the few months he was made Tranquil before he escaped.

Vallen at tensed, reading herself for an attack or an outburst, when he first rose. She had stood, ready to stop him from taking the pill, or at least to question him about it. But... _So it's true. Or at least he believes it to be. Dammit. What are the Templar up to? What game are they playing?_ Moving slowly, carefully, Aveline approaches Malcolm. "Mist— Malcolm? How can I help?" she asks gently.

"Forgive me," he says again, putting the bottle back on his nightstand. "Valium," he offers, seeing her eyes go to it. "I am... Do you have children, Captain Vallen?"

A look of pain flashes over her face. "No. I— I never married," she says, sorrow lacing her stiff tone. _Almost. Just five months away._

"Right now, I envy you," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I keep coming back to... what could she— what could my baby girl have done to deserve this? You didn't know her, but she was— There's no way she did anything they—" He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Garrett was always the more troubled twin."

"I never met Marian, but I have to imagine I would agree," Aveline says softly, slowly reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "But... I'm sorry to press, but what did you hear? And from who?"

"Knight-Captain Otto Alrik paid me a visit yesterday to tell me that the Rite of Annulment had been conducted," he says, his voice a whisper. "He claims all the Mages present on the expedition had been... had been Annulled, after several murders were proven to be a conspiracy to commit blood magic."

Vallen hisses softly, hand tightening on his shoulder. Not painfully, just a solid gesture. "That— that makes the rumors I heard but— Marian was a Kirkwaller. She never renounced her citizenship and the Templar were based out of here as well. A Rite has to cross my desk— I don't get a say in it, but I have to be informed by treaty." She seems to be speaking more to herself than him.

"The expedition was governed under Kirkwall law," he says, shivering slightly. "As a compromise, because the Templar detachment was from Kirkwall— they pushed for UP law, the mages pushed for EU. You should have been informed."

"And yet they didn't," Vallen says slowly, rubbing his shoulder to offer comfort as her mind works. "The last time they tried to slip something past me, it was because they were skirting and outright breaking laws. So what are they up to this time?"

"Please," he says quickly. "If there's anything you can do... My close friend, Varric, he received a phone call from her shortly before— a few days ago. She was frightened, and he sent men to offer aid and extraction. He can tell you more, I wasn't— I wasn't in a fit state to speak of it much yesterday. She called to warn Garrett, because she was concerned they were targeting our family."

"Did she go into any detail?" She hesitates. "Do you think he recorded the call?"

"I suspect he did. He records anything that might be important later. He said she sounded... dazed. Shocked. Said she'd been attacked, but had gotten away without serious injury."

"Attacked? By what?"

"The Templar," he says quietly. "They brought the biggest threat with them."

"That was three days ago? But..." Vallen frowns. "Why are they only returning now if she was attacked— none of this is adding up," she growls. "Can you think of anything else? Anything about what they told you or what you knew from other sources?"

He shakes his head. "Varric's men aren't there yet — they're to arrive this afternoon, to see what can be learned. I was told the body was burned, to prevent reanimation."

"That part is typical but... none of her personal effects were returned?"

"They are still in transit; they wired ahead, Ser Alrik let me know personally due to the fraught nature of my relationship with the Church." Again, some of his bitterness seeps into his voice.

"Fraught," Aveline echoes. "That's... politely put of you."

"I was sent to a circle when I was fourteen. Fraught is my life."

"You— That's true? How did you escape?" Aveline asks, stunned. _The escape rate from UP Circles is— well, the official rate is less than half a percent for successful escapes but the most solid of unofficial rates isn't much higher._

"I had help. I have reason to believe that might be why my children are being hunted now. I couldn't— keeping secrets didn't save Marian, and it almost lost me Garrett as well. If I can tell you anything that makes them one whit safer..."

Aveline studies Malcolm, searching his eyes and face. "They're what matter most to you, aren't they? When did that happen?"

"Always," he whispers, bitterly. "I had thought they were best off with their mother guiding them, protecting them; that they didn't need me in their lives as much as they needed the money and protection I could provide. I was dead wrong."

"Yes you were," Aveline says firmly. "They're very lucky that you realized this, even if it is rather late. Your youngest are still underage, are they not? How have they— and Garrett— been coping with the news? Do they know yet?"

"Not well. I told the family yesterday, an hour after I learned."

"The loss of a loved one is always a broken moment. Daughter, sibling, mother, fiance... I doubt it really changes the pain, not at the core of it."

Malcolm swallows, taking a deep breath. "Yeah," he whispers. "I've lost people before. People I trusted, people I loved in my own way. But never a child. Never— I doubt there is any worse pain. It was my responsibility to keep her safe. I owed her my last breath before I let her be harmed. I can't wrap my head around it."

_Still in shock. Those pills aren't helping either, just plastering over it. I remember that much when—_ "Have you talked to anyone about it yet? Even just to cry?"

"Only in private," he says quietly. "I can't— I've been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, meaning without medication, my emotional regulation suffers. I can't inflict that on anyone else, especially not the children."

"Then you need to find someone that can take it," Aveline says simply, then hesitates. "I... I'm not the best candidate, given... things, but I'm sure you've heard the trouble I've been having with the Templar myself. About my knowing Templar combat techniques. Magic isn't much of an issue to me. A direct attack yes, but not... emotional discharge."

"I won't hurt you," he says, bluntly. "I won't lose control to that degree. It's more... they're all suffering as well. Who am I to burden them further?" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm certain you have other things to do with your time."

"...if it helps, consider it me paying a debt forward," Aveline says softly, thinking of the old man that lived next door to her long ago who had sat with her while she grieved. They'd only moved in a few months before Wesley's death, but Vangal hadn't cared that she was mostly a stranger. _For a retired UP Warden, he'd been a noble man. A good man, and more, a decent man, Andraste hold him close._

Malcolm sinks onto the bed, hanging his head in his hands. "It should have been me," he whispers, and the dam bursts, tears dripping down his cheeks. "Why couldn't the Maker have taken me instead, and spared my baby girl?"

Aveline takes a seat next to him, resting an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "The Maker... I don't think He cares about people. Not individuals. He cares about humans. Maybe about elves and dwarves. But not about a person, not since Andraste."

"I don't think he's real," he admits. "Marian was the best of us. Better than me. She was so smart— beyond smart. Have you ever seen a ten year old do calculus before?"

"I— I _didn't_ see half my senior year do calc so... no, I can't say I have," Aveline says with a half laugh.

"She didn't know how to do blood magic. Her control was the best I've ever seen, better than mine; I've never seen her miscast or hurt anyone she didn't mean to hurt. She was gentle, and sweet— but she was fierce when she saw injustice, and I— I couldn't bring myself to crush that spirit. Maybe I should have. Maybe this is my fault."

"No. That's a trap. It's easier, to blame yourself, because then you can hate yourself. And people you hate, they don't have the right to grief. But it's an insult to the dead. They deserve to be remembered, to be mourned. Let yourself."

Malcolm rubs at his eyes, recovering some of his legendary self-control. "All I can do now is to do my best by the others. To never let this happen again."

"That seems like a really great 'only thing' to me," Avelie says, rubbing his back.

"Maybe," he suggests. "But... they're gunning for Garrett. And they're not going to stop just because— they won't stop until they get what they want."

"The you need to make it more expensive. Make it cost too much, enough that whatever they want can't make up for it."

"How?" he asks, his voice catching. "The twins are hostages three quarters of the year, and Garrett won't stay where I can protect him."

"Well, don't send them back to start," Aveline says wryly.

"Alas, I don't control that decision." The rancor in his voice is palpable.

"Then it sounds like the actual first step is to _get_ that control," she amends.

"I can't. If I try to take control of the children, I'll lose the means to keep them safe." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "I'll try. But I've been thinking of little else all night. How do I keep them safe without hampering my ability to keep them safe?"

Vallen frowns, studying him. "Do you not think your wife will agree with keeping them out of Templar controlled places?"

"I don't know. I know she hasn't, even after Garrett... But perhaps she'll change. I hope so."

_This isn't right. Why is he having to fight with his wife to keep his children safe? Why is he living in the poolhouse? And none of this should be needed in the first place! The law exists for a reason, and the Templar have no right to be—_ "Would it help if I spoke with her? Maybe hearing it from an outside perspective, an authority, could help?"

_You can try, anyway._ "I'd appreciate that."

"Of course," Aveline says quietly. "Is this the same reason why you aren't getting a divorce?"

His mouth twitches, but he doesn't deny it. "There are prenups involved, I have to be... careful."

"I see," she replies quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I made this bed." He hesitates, then adds, "We're trying to keep most of this from the children."

That gets a snort of disbelief. "By sleeping in the poolhouse? Children aren't stupid, Malcolm. I might be trained, but if I could figure it out with only two visits..."

"She won't let me sleep in the guest room," he admits. "But I'm doing my best. They don't need to know the whys, the petty ins and outs, the prenup..."

"That's fair," she allows. "Your children or not, you have the right to keep the details of your private life just that. But... you might want to consider talking to a lawyer, if she doesn't bend on the school issue. Child endangerment is grounds for a divorce, one that might well override parts of your prenup, depending on how it was written."

"I will. But it's flimsy grounds; they're the Chantry, after all. They have a reputation for being the safest caretakers of children," he says, his tone darkening once more.

"Given your... personal history," Aveline says delicately, "I think you'd have a better than even chance of convincing a judge."

"If you can provide evidence they're not following procedures," he begins, swallowing.

"Of course. They broke the law. The law must be impartial and evenly applied: Chantry, mage, rich, poor, elf, human. The Chantry is not above the law," Vallen says passionately. "And I refuse to allow them, or anyone to—" She falters, then clears her throat. "Sorry. I... can get a bit worked up about— Yes. I plan to follow up on this, personally."

He gives a thin, sad smile. "I suppose I owe you an apology. I admit I've not been giving you the benefit of the doubt lately."

She slants a look at him. "Given how we met, I can't really blame you. I abhor what you did for your son," she says bluntly. "But I cannot help but respect _why_ you did it. And I suppose you at least made some kind of effort to help those he hurt," she adds bitterly, long buried pain leaking into her tone.

"Would the law really have made anything better? I did what could be done, for both my son and the boy he hurt. Would dragging my family through legal proceedings truly have helped anything?"

"Actions need to have consequences," Aveline says simply. "If people are allowed to hurt others, from malice, greed, carelessness or whatever you, and aren't punished for it... They'll do it again. I would prefer that people were better, that they were taught better when they were younger but far too many aren't."

"He was punished," says Malcolm. "But more, he was rehabilitated. He's changed. I refuse to give up on him, to let him be some example to others instead of being the person I know he can be. We got him sober. He's cleaned up his life. We got him away from the bad influences, taught him how to ask for help before things get that bad. Prison wouldn't have done that."

"It's a nice idea," Aveline says softly, shrugging her other shoulder. "But hardly practical; most people lack the resources— money and support— to be able to have that sort of opportunity. So should that sort of thing only be able to people with riches and family? What about everyone else?"

"So my son should suffer, should be mistreated, because others cannot save themselves?"

"So my— so others should suffer, be mistreated, because you can save your son? Justice should be fair and even, or it's not justice. If you think the justice system is broken, then fix it, don't break it even more."

"How does my saving the people I can save hurt anyone else? By your definition, there is no such thing as justice in today's world."

"Not yet," Aveline admits painfully. "But if we never try..." She shrugs. "I'll admit, you're... not as bad as some. From what I've seen, from what you've said, Garrett really has learned. Most people that are protected from justice don't. They just go on to hurt more people, over and over again."

"As opposed to those incarcerated, who... They never re-offend?"

"Less often than those that aren't punished," Vallen protests. "But yes, the prison system needs reforming. I've pushed for education programs, therapy, more family visits but... funding and politics," she finishes, the disgust in her voice clear. "I won't take or give bribes, I won't trade favors, I won't break the law. It makes things... harder."

"I will do whatever it takes to keep my family safe," says Malcolm, his voice hard. "Anything."

"I don't have a family. All I have is my job," Vallen replies. "I... I tried once. I lost that chance. So this is what I have left."

"Just remember that the police, the guard, are meant to serve the people. What good are laws if they harm more than they help?"

"I know," Aveline says softly, eyes closing. "I know."

Malcolm bows his head, grief welling up in him once more. "Help me fight the Templar, and I will help you reform the system. I can get close to the Viscount— he doesn't listen to me, not directly, but I know how it's done, getting his ear."

Aveline stiffens, then swallows. _Is this it? Is this... Is this were I finally fall? The help he could bring, and Thedas along with him I'm sure... It could actually work. Real progress. But..._ "As long as you promise to work within the system as much as possible. No shortcuts for convenience or advantage. Protecting the populace is the most important virtue but if we sacrifice too much of our morality, nothing we make will serve." _No. I won't fall. But maybe bending, just a little, won't be too bad. He's right in that much; the purity of my principals isn't worth the suffering of the people I've sworn to defend. Maker help me stay strong._

"Alright." He nods, slowly. "Alright. And... thank you. It's good to have— It's good to know that not all state authority sides with the Templars."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian is reported to be dead. Garrett's taken his siblings out on Varric's boat, where he can train Beth how to use her magic and Fenris can train Carver a bit in fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Grief, family troubles

Garrett watches, proud, as the ball of fire explodes into being on the deck of Varric's ship. He shades his eyes faintly; it's far enough away and small enough he doesn't need to move, but it's actual _fire_ , not just heat. _It figures, Beth has an elemental affiliation different from mine and Ma— anyone else's,_ he thinks to himself, shying away from the pit of pain and despair that his twin's name evokes.

"Hah!" Beth crows , face glowing with delight and excitement. "OMM, this is just— ahhh!" She actually does a bit of a dance, something that might have been interesting to watch if she wasn't his little sister and turns to grin at him. "That is such a rush! I've never— never just _cast_ like that before! I've only done inward stuff before, this just feels— wow!"

"Inward stuff?" asks Garrett, raising an eyebrow. _Beth's growing up fast..._

_Oh. Umm. Right, need to stop— No. If you're going to trust him, then trust him._ "I mentioned that the fire twisty hand thing was the only real magic I've ever done." She shrugs a little, ducking her head. "But, uh, I can... here, give me your hand," she says, reaching out with her own. When he takes it, he just feels, well, her hand. Soft skin, a bit cool from the wind. A few seconds latter, her hand warms, the heat sinking right into him in a very relaxing, almost sensual way.

Garrett blinks at her, somewhat amused. _What the heck...?_ "This is... nice," he says aloud.

Beth smiles a little. "Yeah, I can actually do it with my whole body. I can't really feel it that much but I've gotten a lot of good feedback on it. This is a bit, ummm, higher powered than I normally do? Too obvious this strong. But yeah."

"And you use it to... keep warm in winter?"

"Or swimming, sometimes, but mostly is for this," she replies, squeezing his hand. "Or well, this," she clarifies, stepping closer so she can massage his forearm with practiced skill.

Garrett's eyes drift closed. "Hmmm. Alright. That's nice," he purrs. "It— wait. Feedback? Who are you massaging?" _Better the hell be Carver..._

"Tons of people? I'm kind of known for it," she says smugly, still working on his arm. "You know, if you want, I can work on your knee..."

He snatches his hand back in a hurry. "No need," he says quickly.

Beth looks startled, then hurt. "Oh. Sorry," she says, ducking her head.

Garrett winces. "Sorry. It's just— it's not— It's pretty gnarly. And, well... That sort of massage— let's just say I hope my _baby sister_ isn't doing _that_ sort of massage."

"That sort—" Her eyes widen and she smacks him, twice, on the chest. " _Garrett_!" she hisses at him, sounding mortified. "I'm not— I'm still—" She trails offs, flustered. "No!"

Now he smirks. "Well, you won't stay that way massaging a man's feet and legs, I'll tell you that much," he jokes.

She sniffs. "Shows what you know, I give foot rubs to men all the time. Calves too, sometimes even thighs," she challenges him. _Granted, Nick and Jules are not just gay but totally hung up on each other like woah. And Zev is just the sweetest, even if he is a total man slut._

"I'm surprised you haven't put an eye out," he teases.

"Eww," Beth says, wrinkling her nose. "Thanks for putting that image in my head. _Boys_."

He raises an eyebrow. "Ew?"

Beth freezes for a split second, then shrugs easily. "Boys are gross. Men can be classy." She hesitates as soon as the words leave her mouth, biting her lip. _Crap. I don't— I don't want to lie to him. Not about this, not when he was honest with me_. She looks way. "But woman are... soft. And, um, have..."

Garrett sits back, letting out a low whistle. "Well. That's something," he says, easily. "You shouldn't tell Mother, of course."

"I haven't told anyone," Beth says softly, eyes still averted. She never had to tell Carver, not directly. He probably realized before she did. "Shan knows, I think. She's bi and, uh," She bites her lip, blushing. "I'm almost positive she's, you know, flirted a bit, during sleepovers and stuff."

"You should go for it," he says quietly. "Life is nothing without love."

"But... What if it gets out? If they discover I hid that then— Garrett, I'm not brave like you," she says tearfully.

"Hah! You think I'm brave?" he laughs. "Tell you what, Princess. If you get caught and get in trouble, I'll come clean to Mother to distract her while you get away."

"I'm not worried about— I mean, I am, but..." Her eyes flick to his knee.

He grimaces, pretending to misunderstand. "I suppose you'll be hounding me until I let you rub it? Women."

Beth makes a noise of disgust. "Again: boys! But yes, I've seen you limping and I'd like to see if I can help. But also... you know what I meant."

Garrett sighs, moving to roll up his jeans. "That's not going to roll high enough," he notes. "Come on, let's go sit on the deck chairs and I'll get my trousers off. And heaven help me if you tell anyone," he adds, making a face.

"That I helped my big brother with his PT?" Beth asks sweetly. She pauses, glancing down at herself. "Tell you what, met you there after I grab some sodas for us." _And grab a t-shirt to put over my swim suit. As fun as it can be to do a bit of flirting during a massage... not with my big brother._

When she returns, he's folded his trousers neatly, laying a towel over his boxers and folding it to expose his legs. His right knee is normal-looking: shapely, well toned, tan. His left, on the other hand, has a fat band of scar tissue along the outside, curling up and around the knee; there's less protective muscle around it, and his knee looks off-center, a bit disjointed, and more than a little swollen. That's new; she saw him swimming just last summer, perfectly healthy.

"You want me to start on your right, get you used to it and such?" She's grabbed a t-shirt as planned— naturally, she stole Carver's— and some avocado oil as well. Pouring some in her hands, she shrugs. "Not the best for this but wasn't planning on PT so making do a bit. Better than suntan lotion or canola, our other choices." _No way was I asking Un— Varric if he has any lube on board._

"I've had massages before. Go for it. You'll have to credit me when you're a famous healer."

Beth snorts. "I'd never be comfortable being famous about my magic," she says quietly as she kneels next to his chair.

"You should be. You shouldn't have to be ashamed of what you can do. If I do one thing in this world, I'll make sure you don't have to be afraid." His voice is soft, but intense. "If I die doing that, it'll be worth it. But I hope I don't have to."

Beth smiles faintly, looking both pleased and embarrassed. "You're already a four time winning Best Big Brother of the Year," she teases him to duck around the charged moment. "Trying to get another coffee mug?"

As she speaks, she wipes her hands together once and gets started. Normally, he'd yelp or wince at the touch as she hadn't rub her hands to warm the oil but evidently she cheats in this regard as well. From the first touch, her hands are a soothing, sensual touch. The warmth seeps into his muscles instantly, relaxing them and easing the near constant ache. "Let me know if it's too strong. Not used to powering this high," she murmurs.

Garrett makes a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat. "You'll make someone a very good wife someday," he groans. "Or you could just go into business as a masseuse."

"Thanks?" She laughs a little. "Kirkwall doesn't allow the kind of marriage I would want but it's a nice thought." She continues to work on his leg, kneading her thumbs in. "Can you describe how it feels? Carver can't feel it really so..."

"He... can't feel it?" he asks, hesitantly. "Is his knee fucked or? I can't feel your hand so well on the scar tissue, but..."

"No, he's immune to my magic, remember? It actually warms my hands, we measured it once with a probe, so he can feel that, but the rest of it gets lost."

"All of it, not just damaging effects? I had expected— huh. Anyway, it feels... soothing. Relaxing. It feels comforting." _And just a bit pleasurable, not that I'll admit it._

Beth nods slowly. "Yeah, I've not tried a lot, obviously, but nothing's worked on him." She shrugs a little, moving down his leg to the calf. "There's no pain at all?"

"Much less. It's easing the pain I normally— I mean, uh." He coughs a bit. "No pain."

Beth narrows her eyes at him. "Awww, that's so sweet of you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me practice my therapeutic massages everyday. Eight am works for you?"

Garrett grimaces. "How about not bursting into my room unannounced first thing in the morning, given...? But, fine. I'm typically sore, especially after being on my feet all morning teaching the two of you. That's why I sent Carver to learn from Fen instead."

"Gag. Fine. End of the day better then?"

"Thank you," he sighs.

Beth smiles up at him. "Hey, that's what family is for. How could I not help? Especially after... all this?"

Garrett glances away, swallowing. "Yeah... all this."

Wincing, Beth clarifies, "I meant this trip. You taking the time to teach us. And being so okay with... I mean, I _have_ been lying to you about some big stuff for a decade."

"It just... doesn't seem to matter right now," he says quietly. "Any of us could be gone at any moment."

"I did think about it," Beth offers weakly. "Telling you, I mean. I've never given any real thought to telling anyone about my magic except you. And just Shan and Zev about my, umm, preference."

"A year ago I wouldn't have taken it so well," he says, with a bitter laugh. "Before I got clean."

"Clean?" Beth swallows. "So you were, umm, using?" she asks quietly. "I... sometimes thought _maybe_ but— Pot sure, but you mean more, don't you?"

"Yeah," he admits. "Not Blue. Well, once or twice. But not regularly. That shit's dangerous, even I didn't want to touch it. But I was on... other things. I felt like I needed them, to be able to study and keep up with my twin. If you ever... If you ever think you need drugs to keep up, you come talk to me, okay?"

Beth nods, then bites her lip. _In for a penny_... "What about, umm, other stuff? I've had wine and tequila once— never again for that stuff, so much gross— but that's not bad I figure but I may have also tried some, umm, I'm sure you've heard of cosmic brownies?" She smiles weakly.

Garrett snorts before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I shouldn't poke fun, but— weed's basically beer with a leather jacket. That stuff is fine. If you were an adult nobody would think twice. Just... when it becomes a crutch, when it's the only thing you have to deal with problems, then you need to talk to someone. This stuff should be fun, not... necessary."

Beth wrinkles her nose. "Deal. And like I said, the tequila was horrid, I only drank it because one of Carver's idiot friends basically dared me. Which, I know, dumb, but yeah. Carver took care me though," she says with a smile, hands moving back up his leg to work on the knee again. "And the brownies were kind of a mistake; I didn't want to admit I wasn't sure what cosmic brownies were. Which turns out to be 'panties only karaoke.' Err, sorry. If it helps, it was a girls only sleepover."

"Given recent revelations, not really," he replies dryly. "Beth, don't have sex. I know what I said earlier, but I just meant a kiss or two, maybe dating. You'll have plenty of time for sex later. Focus on school now."

She gives him a flat look. "Oh hell no, if I think I have a chance with Shan, I'm tapping that like the fist of the Maker."

"Beth. Your grades are slipping. I know you don't care now, but trust me, some day you'll really regret chasing tail instead of studying."

"This is her last year. Then she's moving back home and I might never see her again," Beth says quietly. "Like you just said, 'Life is nothing without love.' I mean, I'm not expecting a wedding or even real love but..." She shrugs a little. "My grades aren't related to time anyway."

"What's up with them, then?"

"The last few months have been a bit emotional," Beth says delicately. "Not just you," she adds quickly. "Dad and Mom are..." She shrugs a little, looking sad. "And I've been struggling to care about lessons. I want to act and write, I don't need calc or chem."

Garrett sighs. "Beth... I flunked out of school," he admits. "My life was going down the toilet. I wish I'd worked harder at it, I don't want that for you."

"There's nothing wrong with a 3.2 GPA," Beth mutters as she moves off his knee to his thigh. "And it's a 3.6 average all told so far."

He swallows back a groan of pleasure. "I guess not. But... you want doors to be open to you. Don't throw away chances."

"I guess," she sighs, unable to really argue his point. "How's your knee feeling? Want me to try and push a little?"

"Please do," he suggests. "I really am getting tired of my damn cane."

"Alright. Let me..." Beth pulls her hands away from him and frowns down at him, eyes almost crossing. She winces a little, then shakes her head slightly before refocusing. "I think if I oh wow, that almost tickles. Okay, so... okay. Arm first, to test," she decides, laying two fingers against his forearm. A wave of heat pours into him through the touch, more heat than should be possible without pain. Instead, his arm goes blissfully numb for a second, then pleasure swamps the limb in a strange mix of hot bath and blowjob. On his _arm_. Dimly, he also notes that the bruise on his shoulder from when he helped Fenris demonstrate a throw to Carver has faded entirely.

He can't help it; he lets out a low, gutteral groan, his prick shifting the towel as it rises to the challenge. A moment later, he snatches his arm away. "Shit! You do that with Carver?" he demands.

Beth yelps a little, jerking back from him. "What? Yes? I mean, not that strong, there's no point when he can't feel it. Why, did it hurt?" She looks pained, worried, face pale. "I'm really sorry, I've never pushed that hard with it before, I just— are you okay?"

Garrett shakes his head, his face dour, solemn. "Bethany. Are you— do you have... _feelings_ for Carver?"

"Uh, duh? He's my twin?" A beat. "Wait. What do you mean by _feelings_?" Her tone is just a shade dangerous, and though her complexion is still pale, her eyes are alight with warning.

"Are you fucking him?" asks Garrett, bluntly.

"No," Beth hisses. "I'm a lesbian, dumbass," she snaps, _daring_ Garrett to say a word about Carver's privates.

"So's Marian, doesn't matter. Are you planning to?"

"What? Yes it does," Beth says. "Wait, did you have sex with her? Is that you two don't get along anymore?"

" _No_ ," he growls. "Just— Marian's a bi lesbian. You could be the same. And you hear things sometimes about twins, that's all. I'm just warning you now, if you fuck Carver, it would be the absolute most life-ruining thing you could do."

Beth stares at Garrett, expression guarded. "In your opinion," she finally says slowly, rising to her feet. "But I'll keep your view in mind. I'm going to go wash my hands." _What the hell is this all about? Where did this even come from? How could that possibly be the worst thing I could do? How about losing Carver from my life? Setting the house on fire with everyone in it? Enlisting as a Templar? What the fuck?_

Garrett grabs for Beth's wrist. "Beth. I mean it. Whatever bonds you have in life, there's _nothing_ like a twin. You fuck that up, you bring shame and guilt into it— you'll never really feel like _yourself_ again. And that's worse than anything else you can fuck up."

Beth stills at his grab, eyes widening. "I—" _'Guilt and shame into it.' That's... I'm not attracted to him but it, the thought of sex with him, doesn't bother me as a concept. But would it bother him? Would it bother me afterwards? Thinking and doing are way different, I guess, so maybe._ "Alright," she says softly, swallowing. "Carver is more important to me than anything. I'd never break that."

"Good," he says softly, releasing her wrist as he settles back into the chair. Despite the Valium, he closes his eyes to fend off the grief welling up in him. _We'll never be Us again. I'll never be a twin again. I'm alone, now. Really alone._

"You want me to get Varric?" she asks, shifting from foot to foot.

_Yes_. "No, I'm— I'm alright."

"Is that a real yes or a macho yes?"

About to snap at her, he takes a deep breath instead. _Why am I so testy? (If I jumped off the boat, I wonder if I'd drown before Varric hauled my ass back on?)_ "...Maybe you'd better."

Frowning, Beth nods. _I don't like the way he's acting. He's... of course, dumbass. Marian is— and because of the same reason his knee is—_ "Yeah. Yeah, I'll just... Hold tight, alright?"

He nods, but as she rushes away, he finds himself unable to sit still. Instead he gets to his feet, moving to the railing to look out over the waves, leaning against it. _I could jump this without breaking a sweat_ , he thinks, but he keeps his feet on the deck, waiting.

Sooner than he probably expected, Varric is next to him. "Hey." _He's not looking good. I was worried he was pushing himself (but he needed this)._

"Do you have siblings?" he asks, in lieu of a greeting. "Or did you, I mean. Before."

Varric stills for too long a moment. "My father had two sons. My mother, stone hold her, would be ashamed of both of them, I think. The younger for being a fool, the elder for betraying... everything she raised them to be."

Garrett's quiet a moment, looking out at the water. Finally he sighs, lowering his head a bit in defeat. "We're a real pair, aren't we? Family issues out the ass."

Varric shrugs a little. "Mistakes teach us how to do better. Figure we should know a fuck lot of better, yeah?" He glances at Garret, then stares out over the water. "And you have some good spots in yours still. My mother was a damn fine woman. Firm, didn't say the words often, but I knew. She had a gift for making it clear with just... She had this smile. Faint on the lips, but her eyes? Oh they were so warm when she really smiled."

Garrett says nothing, waiting, building up the courage. Finally, long enough that it's awkward now, he speaks anyway, his voice quiet: "Marian was so prickly, so defensive. She pushed everyone away, and she barely had a kind word for me. But she was vulnerable, underneath. Things hurt her more than she let on. Sometimes— less often as we got older, but sometimes— she'd sneak into my room so I could hold her while she cried. She didn't like hugs. She didn't let Mother hug her, or the Twins. But when she needed one, she came to me. Wouldn't tell me why. Didn't want to admit the weakness. But I knew, usually. I could tell when things were getting under her skin, when she'd need me to be there. When she needed me to back her up, or get between her and a fight she had no hope of winning. When she—"

He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of one hand. "She died alone."

Varric slides to the side, wrapping an arm around him. "I don't have an answer. No clever words. She asked me, asked us, for help and— and we failed to give it. I know it's a fool's hope, praying she's still— But I can't not hope. Not yet. And I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to make this never happen to another sister, another daughter, another mage."

Garrett nods, wiping at his eyes once more. "I keep thinking— it's wrong, for her to be alone. Wherever she is, the Golden City or the Black, shouldn't I be there with her? Shouldn't I—?"

"That's forever," Varric says instantly. "It's no wait, the decades you have left. She'd never forgive you for rushing. Always hated waste, that girl. Do it right or get out of her way."

"What will she do without me?" He whispers. "What will I do without her? I'm all the worst half of us."

"Bullshit," Varric snaps. "She was smarter, more academic, fine. But that doesn't make her better. Doesn't make you worse. You'll grieve, you'll heal, you'll remember her. Honor her. You'll finish your degree, do it right this time. You'll look after Beth and Carver. You'll set up a foundation, a scholarship and safe space for people like her. For daughters seeking to prove their worth, helping them reach the stars without sacrificing their roots."

Garrett nods slowly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "She wasn't just smarter. I don't— you've seen how I don't accomplish my goals. I dream big and then just... don't. I fall to vice so easily. I'm not put together. I'm not— I'm not anything, without her. Without you. Maker. If you ever left me— I'd be worthless."

"I didn't make you do this. Invite your siblings out here, to teach them. To protect them. That was you."

"You really think I can do a damn thing to protect them?" he asks bitterly. "That's you. That's always been you. I bet you could be Viscount by the end of this year if you put your mind to it. Me? Nothing."

"Really?" Varric asks, startled. "You think I could—" He shakes his head. "You're too hard on yourself. You're having dark thoughts. You need to break the spiral in your head."

"...Maybe it was too much, coming out here. Maybe it's too soon. I— maybe we should go home."

"You did what you wanted to accomplish. Beth has a solid grounding now. She knows a bit more, knows that she can come to you. That she and Carver aren't alone. That's a win for you, Garrett. You did good," he says softly to his lover, pressing a kiss to his neck.

Garrett nods. "Can we get pizza for lunch, and go back to your place?"

"You want to eat with the kiddos or at home, just us?" Varric asks softly.

"Just us. I want to eat shitty pizza and cry and maybe watch shitty movies where only the bad guys ever die. Independance Day, maybe. Hell, the entire Will Zhao collection. Half-naked action dwarves taking on aliens and robots sounds perfect."

"As long as we get to to do a Bollywood movie at some point. Something with subtitles and at least one monologue about love or personal success," Varric negotiates with a smile.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

Varric's report is on his desk early the next morning: his men have combed Deception Station, finding no sign of survivors. They did find evidence of a fire, and one of bodies they send him pictures of is wearing the scorched remains of a necklace Garrett can identify as Marian's. He orders them to bring the remains home for burial, along with any personal belongings of hers they can find, and the pair spend the day swapping stories and crying, trying their best to remember her without falling into despair. It's hard. It's beyond hard. But they have each other. They get through it, hour by hour.

* * *

Several of those hours are taken up with a tune-up; Varric's eyesight is finally restored, though his HUD seems to go glitchy at times, a net gain he's more than pleased with. He's still not in good enough condition to go into work, but perhaps next week. For now, he's working from home, which has the benefit of letting him fuss over Garrett. For his part, Garrett seems disinclined to return to work, either. Even his interest in sex comes and goes; his enthusiasm for play wanes easily, and though he seems restless, distracted, he seems uninterested in most of his usual past-times.

_At least when he was drinking, he let himself feel (even if most of it was just covering over fear and doubts),_ thinks Varric more than once, as he tries to tempt his lover. Today's offering is Smash Brothers; he's tried taunting him, but when that fails, he's ordered the boy to "pick a fighter, we're doing this."

Garrett is hovering between Meta Knight and Sheik, struggling to make up his mind, when the buzzer for the gate goes off. _Dammit, it's going to take forever to get him refocused (should ask Cole to do it. No, he'll freak whoever it is out). Fine._ "Be right back, so don't go anywhere," he orders Garrett firmly before heading to the security alcove in the hall; an additional annoyance, Varric unaccustomed to having to use a console instead of linking his vision directly.

"Message for you, Mr Thedas." The man at the gate is Chinese, possibly even a dwarf, to Varric's practiced eye, though he sees no outward sign of implants. He is dressed in red, in a traditional long _changshan_ shirt and trousers, with the familiar seal of House Aeducan blazoned on the chest: a commoner's outfit, a serf belonging to Aeducan or one of their affiliated houses. Traditionally if it's the latter, the seal of the small house would be seen alongside Aeducan— but not always, not if they're hoping to go undercover. Of course, it could be Aeducan itself. That's always a possibility. Either way, it's trouble.

"Friendly warning, I have a permit for lethal house defences. What's the message?"

"Sealed, sir." He holds up a red envelope, sealed with the very seal Varric was hoping never to see again in his life: the seal of Clan Tethras.

After a long moment, Varric absently puts Mini B away, not even really having noticed he'd drawn the weapon. _This... is happening. Well. Always knew it would, eventually (hoped otherwise)_. "Put it in the mailbox."

"As you like." With a deep, formal bow, the messenger places the envelope into the mailbox and retreats.

Varric takes a slow breath. "Well... there goes my mood," he mutters, not that he'd been all that thrilled with life anyway. Toggling to chat, he sends a message to Cole. [There's a letter in the mailbox by the gate. The box detaches, bring the whole thing to my office without being seen. Be careful.] That sent, he heads back to the living room. "Hey, got... a thing. A letter. Could be important. You mind grabbing Fenris?"

Garrett looks up, blinking as he tries to wrench his brain onto the new train of thought. "I think he's working out. I can text him. What's up?"

"Got a letter," Varric repeats, voice even, almost casual, but his fingers twitching just a little. "Could be... important. Probably. Hopefully just being a paranoid bastard but..." He shrugs. _With all the political maneuvering (polite civil war) between the Five Great Clans, it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility (yes it is) that this is just them looking to recruit a successful expat to bolster their prestige._

Garrett frowns. "Wait, do you think it's... _them_?" He doesn't want to name-drop Revelations, the horror that haunts Varric's life and Fenris', but at the same time, if this is urgent, he wants to know sooner rather than later.

"No." A pause. "I mean, small chance, but unlikely." He hesitates, old instincts fighting with new habits. "It's from Clan Tethras. Seal looked legit over the camera."

Garrett blinks. "Who's Clan Tethras? I assume that's someone in China?"

Varric stares a moment, then shakes his head. "Right. Sorry. That's, uh, the Clan name of..." He trails off, the words lodging in his throat. Finally, he just kind of weakly gestures at himself.

"...Your birth clan," says Garrett, quietly. "Got it. Okay. So this is... family shit."

"Yeah. I... They might be just looking to recruit an expat dwarf done good. Tethras is part of House Aeducan," Varric says, tone not nearly as confident as he'd like.

"Who is House Aeducan?" asks Garrett, reaching for his phone to text Fen.

"Stone cracks, are you serious? Don't they teach anything about China in schools?" Varric grumbles. "House Aeducan was slash is sorta technically but not really the current ruling House. The House of the Emperor. But the last Emperor died near the start of the twentieth century and no heir was eligible. The Assembly has been ruling as a clusterfuck style regent since. It's... messy."

"So, wait, so, are you secretly royalty?" asks Garrett, hitting send.

Varric snorts. "Nobility, not royalty. Tethras is part of House Aeducan but Clan Aeducan is the royal family, so to speak. Not the heir either," he adds, bitterness dripping off the words.

"Ah. Your father's son, I guess?" says Garrett, nodding. "Okay. So this could be your not-brother trying to reconnect, or your dad, or... you have cousins? Or whatever?"

"Like thirty of them," Varric says with a snort. "But none in the main branch. Could be either of the the others. My mother was head of the family, until she..." He swallows, honest grief in his eyes for a moment. "Her husband is Regent; thanks to some rule twisting, he's kept it after the heir came of age. The heir rules the company, but her husband rules the family. It's... mostly amicable, last I knew."

Garrett nods slowly, as Fenris drifts into the room, frowning a bit. "What is it _now_?"

"Family trouble," replies Garrett, frowning a bit. "Varric wanted us all present." He starts a bit, realizing the mailbox is on the coffee table for some reason.

Varric nods curtly, moving to the table as he pulls on a pair of silk lined rubber gloves. "Move back and cast a barrier," he orders Garrett. "Small but possible chance that it's trapped."

Garrett nods, but when the barrier comes into being, it hugs Varric, a few centimeters away from his skin to avoid messing with his implants.

Varric looks up a the ceiling. "Fenris, smack him for me?" he asks patiently.

Fenris smirks, crossings his arms. "No way. I'm staying out of your weird sex games."

"...why me?" the dwarf asks the ceiling. "Garrett, barrier _yourself_. And Fenris."

"You're a hell of a lot closer to it," Garrett says with a scowl. "I'm not letting you get blown up. We'll manage."

"Fine, at least step outside the room, look around the door," Varric compromises. _Walls have sheetrock in them, should block most stuff that could fit in an envelope this size._

Garrett opens his mouth to protest, but Fen hooks his elbow, drags him to the door. The pair of them peer around the corner, watching intently; the blond boy peers around the opposite door frame, no closer than they.

_Good Cole_. "Thank you," Varric says wryly, then grabs a cold iron letter opener. _Time to find out what this is about._

What it's about, apparently, is a meeting: Garen Tethras, representative of Clan Tethras, seeks Varric Tethras for a discussion about the family circumstances. It seems the Clan is soon to be without an heir, and if the esteemed Varric Thedas is, in fact, Varric Tethras, his exile can be rescinded. Garen includes an email address and urges Varric to reply one way or another at his earliest convenience.

_Garen? Who the fuck is Garen? Probably an adopted no-Clan flunky (like they think I am, hop—) Fuck. Fuck. Fuck (wait, no heir?). Fuck. Fuck (shite). Fuck. Exile? What fucking exile? I was sold and registered as dead_. "Fuck," he breathes out softly. _Earliest convenience, how about next fucking Blight. That should be a good time for it._

Garrett creeps into the room as the barrier fades, frowning. "What's it say?" he asks, his voice gentle, his eyes concerned.

"I guess I _am_ the heir?" Varric says in a daze, still staring at the pale white parchment with its bright red hanzi lettering.

"You... That's... good?" offers Garrett, his hand coming down onto Varric's shoulder.

"Not really," Varric says bluntly. "For one, heirs live in China."

"Right. China. I could move to China. It'd give me real good reason to practice Mandarin, right?"

Varric stares at him. "One, no. Two, you're a _mage_. Three, your family is here. Four, my company is here. Five, _my_ family is _there_. Six, I _hated_ China. Seven—"

"Varric!" Garrett cuts in. "Deep breath. Okay?"

Varric goes silent, eyes closing. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep (sounds familiar) breaths._

Garrett takes one himself, his hand tightening a little on Varric's shoulder. "Okay. We don't have to move to China. You can just tell them no, can't you?"

_Don't have to move._ "Tell them no, yes. Have them listen..." He swallows, expression sickly.

Something dark crosses Garrett's face. "I'll _make_ them listen."

Varric opens his eyes, a crooked smile forming. "My brave shagua," he murmurs, pulling Garrett in closer.

Garrett wraps his arms around Varric, closing his eyes. _I'll keep him safe. I have to. I won't let anything happen to him, not ever again._

Varric lets himself be held for a minute, then sighs. "We should probably sit down and discuss options. Plans."

"Yeah," agrees Garrett with a sigh of his own. "I guess." He glances around, then, realizing they're alone: "Hey, where did Fenris go?"

"He saw emotions, so he's gone back into hiding for six more weeks."

It doesn't take long to find him; the sound of microwave popcorn is a telltale hint. He makes a second bag for the pair, and they move back to the living room, Garrett holding one bowl and Fenris another.

"So..." Varric stalls, reaching for a handful of popcorn. "So. I don't really..." He sighs, rubbing his face. "I keep tabs on Tethras doings on this side of the world. I listen for international news. But mostly I try to ignore them. So I don't know nearly as much as I should about current events and their circumstances."

"Sounds like we need information. Should we send Cole to spy?" asks Fenris.

"Who?" asks Garrett.

"A friend. Covert. And yes, probably. Definitely worth asking him if he knows anything," Varric allows. "Probably need to respond but... should I put him off? Right now, not give him more time to prepare?"

"Do you want to hear him out first, or just say no right away?" asks Garrett

Varric opens his mouth, then closes it. "I am... having trouble properly evaluating options," he finally says. "My gut wants to just deny, deny, deny. Say they have the wrong dwarf, try and make him leave. Now. Low, low odds of that working and it would damage any plan of going along with it for more intel."

Garrett reaches out to rub Varric's back. "Well, logically, even if they have the right dwarf, we can say no, right? I mean, we can come packing heat, so if they threaten you..."

He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. "True. I'm not worried so much about _this_ attempt. But... if something happened to— to the previous heir, then they're low on choices. If the main branch wants to keep control, they need me back. Which, in turn, means the rest of the family will likely want me to not come back. And better 'can't' than 'won't' in Chinese politics."

"...But they're your family. I know family's fucking awful sometimes, but they wouldn't... would they?"

"Tch," says Fenris. "Someone's not paying attention."

Garrett scowls. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He said he got sold, remember? His family _sold_ him. To _Revelations_. They'd definitely assassinate him."

"He's not wrong. I doubt most of them were aware or would have approved but that's not— I was more popular, doing better with academics and engineering both. Already had a few Gem level accomplishments to my name, even before I'd finished my schooling. He would have felt... threatened. It's uncommon for the firstborn to be passed up for Clan Head but not unheard of by any means." Varric shrugs. "And to be honest, if I had been approached, I would have gone for it. I'm better than him. He wanted to rule, not lead."

"But you... don't want it anymore?" asks Garrett, hesitantly. "You're paranoid as fuck, you could keep yourself safe now. You're powerful, with your implants. You're doing great at StoneSure— whatever companies your family owns, you'd be killer running them. And Amell's been looking for inroads into China. You could come back better than ever, stick it to him."

"Here, I'm the leader of my own company, a company I made. I have no master, no king. The Viscount is a weak-willed bitch. In China? Tethras is just a cog in the machine that is House Aeducan. And even Aeducan has to obey the Assembly, at least in the light." He shakes his head. "No. In another life, maybe I could have been happy there. Could have done wonderful things there. But that's not home anymore." He tilts his head to look at Garret. "It's not home."

"I'll go anywhere you go," says Garrett, softly. "Mage or no mage. Speak the language or not. I'll go where you go. So don't worry about me, alright?"

Varric breathes out slowly, rocking slightly as his emotions churn inside him. "Nǐ shì wǒ de xīn, wǒ de zhōngchéng, lǔmǎng de yěmǎ" he murmurs. _You are my heart, my loyal, reckless mustang_. "I know. But I have family here, beyond you. Mal. The twins. My company. Hell, even Leliana, Gerav and a few others. Li. None of them would be there." He pauses. "But I wouldn't object if you wanted to learn Mandarin."

"I uh. I was waiting for your birthday, but I got one of those apps..." he says, blushing a bit.

Varric grins at him, chuckling. "You started with it yet?"

"Ye-ah..." he says, rubbing the back of his head. "I did like, seven lessons. Just not, uh. Not this week." _Damn owl's been hounding me, too._

"Breaks are fine," he says smoothly. "I'd love to help you practice, if you want."

He blushes a little. "That sounds great."

"You're going to have to start over," warns Fenris. "I don't think he's done a damn lesson since you got out of the hospital."

"Thanks, Fen, that's not creepy at all," growls Garrett.

"Welcome."

"Just means I can tweak the lessons to take advantage of our personalities," Varric says lazily.

"Now look what you did," says Garrett, but he can't keep the smile from the corners of his mouth. "Anyway. Seriously. Whatever you want to do is fine, Varric. Just let me know how I can help."

Varric sags a little, the boost from the levity of the digression fading. "I have no idea really. I think I need to think it over. Maybe talk with Mal, see if he's heard anything. Good to check in on him anyway."

"Do you want me to investigate?" the blond boy asks, leaning forward a little.

"More information is going to be very helpful," Varric replies thoughtfully, nodding as if to himself.

"Understood." And the blond boy slips away, silent, as always.

"I... would you mind if I didn't come along?" asks Garrett, hesitantly. "It's just..."

"Grief can feed off of grief. But... just take care not to isolate yourself, alright?" Varric offers a wan smile.

"Yeah," he says, with a crooked smile. "I think I need to kick Fen's ass, anyway."

"I'm sure the two of you will find _something_ to occupy your ass. I mean time," Varric says, snickering as he rises to his feet. "I'll be back for dinner— either of you need anything?"

"Just you, forever," teases Garrett.

"Gag me," adds Fenris with a dramatic rolling of the eyes.

"Go to town, just clean it afterwards!" Varric calls back as he heads out, letter tucked back into the envelope. _Hopefully Mal isn't busy. Getting close to lunch, I'll grab something (multi-tasking is efficient)._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm hasn't been himself since his daughter was reported dead. Perhaps Aveline can help solve the case at least, and give him some measure of peace?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Grief

"Thank you for making time on such short notice, Mister Amell," Vallen says politely as he lets her into his office. "The police department appreciates your cooperation in this matter." Once the door closes, she offers a small smile. "How're you holding up?"

"Not well," he admits. Malcolm doesn't look like he's been sleeping much, and his dress shirt and tie are both somber black, but he's cleaned up, he's gone to the office, he's even put his hair into a ponytail. Making the effort, at least. "Please, have a seat."

She hesitates, but finally does so, a change from previous meetings. "Thank you. Have you talked to someone yet? Even just a friend?"

"No," he admits. "As it turns out, I'm woefully short on friends. Most of those I counted were in fact my wife's friends, not mine."

"Even," she mostly stops herself from making a face, "Mister Thedas? I had gotten the impression that he was not fond of her at all."

"No," he agrees. "But he's consoling my son. If there's anyone on this earth that needs him more than I do, it's my son."

"Ah. I hadn't realized... but then again, I know he's starting working at StoneSure and you did mention something about your son undergoing some," she hesitates a moment, trying to find the right word. "Rehab mentorship? I gather Varric is said mentor?"

"Yes," he says quietly. "I can't risk him going on drugs again. I'll cope."

"Have a seat yourself. Then talk to me," Aveline says softly. "I know we aren't friends, but grief should never be born alone."

He hesitates, then moves to take the chair next to hers. "Has there been any progress so far?"

"After a fashion," Aveline says slowly. _Not ready to talk about himself. That's understandable, if a little disappointing._ "As I mentioned, any Rites on or by Kirkwall citizens or workers have to cross my desk. I don't have a veto-- though the Viscount does, in a limited fashion-- but I have to be informed. Before the Rite is carried out. And yet not only did I not get that information prior, I got it from you, not them. However, this morning, I found that there's a notification archived for a Rite, dated six days before the act."

"...So they backdated it. To cover up unorthodox behavior?" he asks, eyes intense.

"I can't prove that, legally but... yes. The official archive looks, well, clean. No sign of tampering, dates are correct, everything is signed and stamped just right. But it wasn't there last night."

"So it was murder in fact as well as in spirit," he says quietly, looking away. "I have to admit I'm relieved."

"I can understand that reaction," she reassures him. "There's is something of a clue in this. The list of people capable of slipping that sort of documentation in the three places it needs to be-- one of which is my work computer-- without leaving a trace is rather limited."

"Is one of them Meredith Stannard?" he asks, dryly.

"Not at the moment, no. Me, obviously. The Viscount. The night shift Captain. That's it without breaking additional laws. With extra effort, my assistant, Captain Jevan's assistant and Seneschal Bran. Or Mister Thedas or someone else of his skill level and resources. I doubt there aren't many of the in Kirkwall," Aveline lists off. "It's entirely possible that the acting Knight-Commander has someone of that sort, or it could be a 'simple' case of treason."

"My bet's on somehow both." He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Thank you."

"It's less personal, but I want them caught just like you do," Aveline assures him. "They murdered over a dozen people and are attempting to cover it up. That will _not_ stand."

"Thank you," he says again. "I failed my daughter, but at least I can get some justice now."

"Sometimes that's all you have," Aveline says, a shadow of old grief in her eyes. "How about things on your end?"

"No new news," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "Lea's parents put a story out about Marian dying in a blizzard, it made the front page today. I've been speaking with funeral homes; Varric's men managed to recover a, a body," he says, his voice choking up. He takes a deep breath and continues: "it's in bad shape, but it's something to bury, at least."

Aveline winces. "I think I heard about that... I also noticed that they asked for donations to charities in lieu of flowers." _One of which was the Chantry, with another being a church-run academic outreach program that's rumored to be a Templar recruiting tool._

Malcolm is quiet, covering his face with his hand for a moment while he composes himself. Finally, his voice cracking, he says, "Damn them. May they rot in the Black City. But I don't have... I don't have the kind of power I hoped to have. I can't go against them."

"What-- is their hold on you something I could help with?" Aveline asks as carefully as she can.

"No." He takes a deep breath. "When I was young and foolish and believed in true love, I signed a prenuptial agreement. Over the years, I've signed other agreements: nondisclosures, employment contracts... it's all legal, but if I stand against them, my family stands to lose everything I've built. Just as if I divorce Leandra, I'll lose everything, even the children."

Aveline hisses softly. "Which leaves you with your only option waiting them out."

"I don't understand, will never understand, why they insist on endangering the children. They threatened to put Garrett in a Circle; having been to one myself, in the UP, I would rather smuggle him out of Kirkwall than allow him to be placed there."

Aveline eyes narrow. "Garrett is of age-- any attempt to enroll him into a Circle of a non-voluntary nature would require a criminal trial. If you get wind of _anything_ like that, for anyone, call me. Immediately. He's prominent enough given his history that I can easily insist on supervising anything of that nature myself."

Malcolm nods. "Will you notify me if you see any paperwork filed regarding the other children? I-- I would prefer not to break the law, but this campaign of targeted harassment... it's clear the Church wants my patents. They're likely trying to move against the children in an attempt to get to me. Garrett mentioned them trying to pressure him into saying I taught him blood magic, so they could have probable cause to take me as well. I have contingency plans; they won't get what they want, even if they brand me. But this is... You have to see this is illegal, or at the very least unethical, what they're doing. So if you could give me warning if they try to file paperwork, I can give you warning if anything illegal happens. We can defeat them together."

Aveline considers that for a moment, then nods. "Actually... have you considered filing restraining orders? You can't do one against the entire church of course but you can file against all the guards personally involved, as well as Stannard and any other Templar that have been deeply involved in the incidents. It would, if nothing else, provide a tangible, legal history."

"If you think it would help, I'll do that," he says, nodding. "I don't expect a judge to uphold them, but the attempt may help provide history, as you say."

"Depends on the judge," Aveline replies. "It's illegal to influence the selection of a judge for a case, but there are several highly respected judges serving Kirkwall that are mages, dwarves or otherwise not well in favor of the Church."

"The problem is I am a mage. It's as though a prisoner tried to take out a restraining order against the prison guards."

"Criminals have taken out orders against particular cops before," Aveline replies distastefully. "Some people aren't deserving of their uniform. Having that sort of thing happen can often be enough to catch the attention of a more ethical officer, get them to look into things."

"Do you think it's worth writing to the Seekers?"

"The Seekers?" Aveline leans back, mulling that over. "Once you have the orders filed, it might be," she finally agrees.

"I find it difficult to trust that they'd do their job," he admits.

"Make sure it gets out," Aveline suggests. "The Church wants your devices, I can only imagine how much, but they can't afford a major PR scandal. Not so soon after that Bishop was caught... well." Selling Tranquil children to rich families wanting 'docile show pieces' was bad enough, the fact that he, either through carelessness or indifference, sold them to a sex trafficker...

"Scandal after scandal and nothing changes," he sighs. "But I will do what I can. I-- it's the least I can do, after what I-- what I failed to do."

"I won't tell you that you didn't fail. Right or wrong, you won't-- can't-- accept that yet. So I'll just say that she'd forgive you," Aveline says quietly, reaching out to take his hand. "Seeing this, seeing you fight for her memory, to protect her siblings... I think she'd be proud of you."

"Proud," he says bitterly. "I'm a failure in every way that counts. I let my children down, time and time again. And now I am helpless to protect them. I should never have married Lea."

"Have you spoken to them about this? The younger set, they're... seventeen? Still vulnerable to parental oversight, but if they know, they can help keep themselves safe. Avoid going places alone with them at the very least."

"I tried. They told me Garrett talked to them. He's more of a father to them than I am apparently."

"It's easier to speak to siblings sometimes. I've had more than a few cases cross my desk, especially at the start of my career, where it was the older sibling that brought a problem to me. Teenagers often fixate on the 'getting in trouble' aspect of their problems instead of how they need help." Aveline squeezes his hand gently. "Especially if they've noticed you're keeping things from them."

"I still haven't told them about Lea. I-- I can't. If they tell the grandparents, if word gets out that I'm being unfaithful..."

She frowns. "I had assumed she was... Sorry, it's none of my business." Still, she has a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Leandra's been cheating since before the older twins were born," he says quietly. "I asked her for an open marriage, so that I could get my own needs met, but I've... been largely unsuccessful thus far."

"Oh." Aveline flushes, looking away for a moment. "That's... reasonable. Entirely so, given that you can't simply split. Thank you for... sharing that with me. I can only imagine how that must feel." _Why did that matter so much to me? I suppose... well, someone that is unfaithful in marriage isn't someone that is likely to be trustworthy in other partnerships. And I'm starting to consider him a friend as well,_ she admits to herself.

"I am beginning to wonder what the point is," he admits. "My life belongs to my children now. I have to protect them. I have to do what I can, to try and keep them safe, even though I don't have the power to do so. So what does it matter if I am free or remain faithful to a woman who no longer can bear my touch?"

"Because you matter, Malcolm Hawke," Aveline says firmly. "Because you deserve happiness and justice too."

"Do I?" he asks softly. "Do I deserve any better than my daughter received?"

" _Yes_ ," Avelline snaps at him. "Of course you do. The Templar committed a crime against her. They took your daughter. Don't let them take your heart too."

"My children _are_ my heart."

"Don't put that on them, Malcolm. Don't make someone your whole world. It's not fair to either of you," Aveline says, voice bittersweet and worn.

"How can I not? My children are my pride and joy, the one thing in my life I did right. I thought making the Amell Phone would be the thing I did best, but it was them. It was always them. And now I've failed Marian, and I'm failing Garrett, and even the younger twins... I'm not the father they need. I have to give them more than I have."

"Giving them more is fine. It does... Well, from what I've gathered, you put yourself too much into your work and left things to your wife. Who," she hesitates. "Who lacks judgement in certain matters. So yes, do better. But you need more. Make friends, continue your work and love them. Trust them, work with them, just talk to them. If there's anything that I've learned about child rearing on the job, it's that so many problems could be solved if parents were honest and respectful about talking to their children."

"I can trust no-one," he says, frowning a little. "Not anymore."

"Not even your children? Not even your best friend, your son's mentor?"

"I can't burden the children with my secrets. And I won't take even a little of Varric's time from my son."

"Surely they don't spend _all_ their time together," Aveline reasons. "And besides, children are stronger than you give them credit for. You shouldn't share every detail perhaps, but at least be honest with them. Why would they come to you for help, if you're always hiding things from them?"

"Why would they come to me at all if they knew how broken and lost I felt?"

"Because you're their father," Aveline says simply.

"Some father I am." He loses control, tears welling up in his eyes at last.

"You are," Aveline assures him, scooting her chair closer. "You are. You're flawed, just like everyone else. You didn't cause your daughter's death. You could have done better, but that, her dying, wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it? I let her go off on her own, I didn't tell her I supported her being bisexual, I let Leandra set the tone for the family."

"But you didn't send the Templar there. You didn't order them to... do what they did. You didn't kill her," Aveline repeats patiently.

"I failed her. I wasn't there when she needed me," he repeats.

"Did she ask you to be? Did you know? Could you have left your son?"

"She didn't come to me. She didn't think she could. She didn't know I loved her."

"Then make sure the other three do. If they won't come to you, offer. Be there. It's easy to wallow in guilt and grief, but if you want to do better, then you have to do something."

"Mal, buddy o'pal, how you doing?" Varric says even as he enters the room at a brisk pace. _The hell is the guard bothering him about now? Doesn't he have enough to deal-- what the fuck?_ "Uh. Bad time?" he asks, fumbling at the sight of them holding hands and clearly have a personal moment.

Mal pulls his hand away from Aveline quickly, wiping his eyes with it. "Varric," he says, and plows on despite hating how rough he sounds. "What's happened? Is everything alright with Garrett?"

Like a shot, Aveline stands, almost snapping to attention as Varric stares at them. "What? No, he's fine. Getting schooled at brawl by Frank probably." He gives the guard a dark look. "What happened here?"

"Captain Vallen was just keeping me informed about the investigation into Marian's death," he says, sounding tired, but not strained, not anxious.

"Malcolm mentioned that you had sent a team to the site in Antarctica? Trained investigators or just..." She trails off, not wanting to start a fight.

Varric glances at Mal, at his nod, he shrugs. _Malcolm is he? In-ter-esting_. "One of them is an ex-cop from Ireland, worked robberies mostly. Another is ex-Ben-Hassrath. So yeah, they know what they're doing."

"Please forward their findings to Captain Vallen," says Mal, his voice low but firm. "We are cooperating with her investigation. She's found some irregularities, there may be enough to bring suit."

Varric's eyes widen and he whistles softly, surprised at where this is going. "Yeah, sure."

"Wait, ex-Ben-Hassrath? Are you sure?" Aveline asks, frowning.

Grinning, Varric nods. "Yeah, I know, they're the spooks of spooks, but yeah, she's definitely tal vashoth, given she's married to an elven priestess of Ghilan'nain. Full elven ceremony too, lovely pictures."

Aveline stares, then shakes her head. "Very well. If you could get me that report and anything else you can dig up, I would appreciate it."

"If you have a recording of your call with her, before," begins Malcolm, then he falters. "I would like to hear it as well," he admits.

"I do," Varric assures him. "I have a transcript stored that... is on your phone now. I'll send you the audio later." He hesitates. "It's not an easy listen, knowing... what happened."

"I didn't expect it would be," he says quietly. "But I need to know."

"Yeah. Yeah I get that," Varric says quietly. Glancing at Aveline, he clears his throat before speaking. "Right off, I can tell you that there's room to look. We're short over a dozen bodies, including a qunari, the head of Bull's Chargers. Security group hired to protect the civilians. One or two, could be just missing. A dozen? Could be missing, could be hiding, could be captive."

"Anyone from Kirkwall still missing?" she asks, eyes suddenly intent. "If so, that gives me a lot of room to push."

"The Chargers are from all over, but they have an factor here in town. So not citizens but business owners?"

"Close enough," Aveline says with a predatory grin.

Malcolm nods. "Good. Anything else we can help you with, Captain?"

"Talk to your friend," Aveline orders in a low voice. Louder, she continues, "no, just send whatever information you have or find to me. But I can't trust my work machine, so send it here." She offers Malcolm a slip of paper. "An old friend, retired, set this up for me. It's as secure as my work system but less accessible and private."

"Thank you," Mal replies, his voice intense. "For everything."

She offers a small smile, nods to Varric, and sees herself out. Varric holds up a finger once she passes him, waits for a five count after the door closes, then turns to Mal. "Going for as far as humanly possible from the Bitch, huh?"

He flinches, shaking his head. "It's not like that. I just-- I needed--" He takes a deep breath, wiping at his eyes again. "What's happened? Why are you here?"

"No? Shame, she's good people, if a bit stiff. You shouldn't be alone Mal."

"Well I find myself alone anyway," he snaps.

"Mal... you're the one pulling away from us," Varric says softly. "When was the last time you asked to spend time with me or any of your kids?"

"Garrett needs you," he says, but it feels like an excuse.

"I'm Varric fucking Thedas, I can take care of _two_ stupid, stubborn Hawkes."

Mal's face twists, and he buries his face in his palms, trying to stop the tears. Grief? Relief? It all mingles together in a rush.

"Oh Mal," Varric murmurs kneeling next to his best friend and pulling him into a tight hug. "Oh Mal."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, as his tears drip onto Varric's shoulder. "I-- I increased my meds. Next week I'll be myself again. But right now it hurts, it hurts so much..."

"Don't ever apologize for crying over your child's death," Varric says sharply, voice a little thick himself.

"I have to be strong," he replies. "The children need me. I can't-- I can't break down like this."

"No you-- this? This right here? This is why you should have watched at least a few of those 'girlie, artsy' movies with me. That shite isn't what they need. They need to see that it's okay to grieve. They need to see that you care. That you feel the same way they do. They want their father to hold them, to cry with them."

Still, he shakes his head. "My emotions are-- it's one of the side effects. Without medication I wouldn't be... I would be a wreck. I can't let them see me like this. They'll never trust me to keep them safe."

"So put some silk on," Varric says with a shrug. "In a safe place obviously but that would keep your magic in check so you can relax your control."

He takes a deep breath, fighting for composure. "When I left the Circle... I had no control, no calm. Anything mildly amusing would send me into fits of laughter. Anything slightly sad would have me weeping. I can't-- people respect me partially because I have attained a level of self-control, of poise and, and dignity."

"And that's great for business, Mal, but not for your family. You're worried that your children don't know you, don't know you love them-- so _show them_."

"Their safety is my first concern. If I can't think straight, I can't protect them." Still, he sounds uncertain, hesitant.

"Taking an afternoon off at my place to show them you love them-- no, to _tell_ them, with words, flat out, that you love and care for them, that they're your world and that you regret missing so much of their lives? That won't end the world. I'll call up a full security team if it helps. But dammit Mal, if you don't start reaching out, often and earnestly and soon, you're going to lose them."

"Like I lost Marian." It's not a question.

"Or just... them walking out. Leaving you."

_Again, like Marian_. "If I could keep them safe, it'd be worth it," he says quietly. "But I can't. I'm a failure, Varric."

"Stone the Maker, Mal, get over yourself," Varric says bluntly. "You didn't kill her. Say it!"

"I didn't--" He swallows, shuddering. "I didn't kill her," he manages, his second try. "I only feel like I did."

"Well, you're not too bright sometimes," Varric says kindly. "Seriously, waste of damn money, that paternity test. Feel like I should have told them to test if he was your clone."

"... _Garrett_ feels responsible?"

"He's her twin, he should have been there, he's the one that pissed the Templar off," Varric says with a sigh. "Swap out the names and a few details and it'd be like an echo." He gives Mal a look. "Might really help to know his dad feels the same way."

"I'm her _father_ ," he says, shuddering. "I-- you're right. I should talk to him."

"And be honest and open when you do," Varric presses, looking worn and sad. "You have a good family, Mal. Not all of it, sure, but you have good kids. Don't let the fear of losing that make you push it away."

Mal takes a deep breath, finally pulling back from Varric to wipe at his eyes again. "Is that why you came? To get me to talk to them?"

"I'm good at multitasking. Bit of that, bit of protecting you from the mean police lady, a bit of discovering you want her to 'arrest' you instead, and finally some asking if you keep up on Chinese internal news? Specifically anything to do with..." The words stall a little. "Clan Tethras."

"...yes," he says, his objection to Varric's earlier sentiments fading at the last. "I do. What's this about? Have they reached out to you?"

Without a word, Varric pulls out the letter for Mal to read.

Mal takes it, reading quickly. "Ah. I suspect your father's had a relapse, then," he says quietly. "My condolences."

"Relapse?" Varric asks, not touching the last word.

"He was hospitalized nearly a decade ago. Nobody would say what with, but he was in and out of the hospital for a while, and vanished from public view for longer. If they're worried about his lack of heir, whatever happened must have relapsed. Or come out of remission."

"I... see," Varric says carefully. "No heir?" _Don't make assumptions. Just get the information. You can think about it later._

"Bartrand vanished a few months after I rescued you. There's been no heir the whole time."

"Vanished." Varric stares at the ground. "Vanished."

"I assumed you'd had him killed."

"How?" Varric asks, stunned. "I mean, now, maybe, though it would cost a lot of what I've built up. But that soon after? I'm good Mal, but damn."

He shrugs, a little awkwardly. "I didn't want to ask. Didn't want to call attention to it, or risk... anything coming to light. He vanished, nobody can figure out where to. Probably killed, given China, but it looks suspicious. Makes your father look weak, like he can't protect either of his sons-- first you, then him. And he didn't do much of note, really. It's rumored his underlings are forging memos on his behalf, that he does even less than it seems. Then there was the health concerns, but that seemed to have cleared up. Now this."

"Useless drunk," Varric mutters, rubbing at his temples. "So they're desperate for a figurehead but won't want said head to actually have any ideas of his own. Fucking wonderful."

"You need me to have the guy removed?"

"Wouldn't solve anything, just put them on edge," Varric says with a wave.

"Would make a point," he suggests, with a sigh. "Alright. How do we play this, then?"

"Right now, I'm in intel gathering mode," Varric explains. "Whatever you can send me that you have or can get easy and quick. Sometime tomorrow, I'll send a reply to arrange a meeting this Saturday."

"Alright," he says quietly. "And I can put some feelers out about what's happened now. But even money's on relapse."

"Alright. Thanks. You should come over for dinner tonight," he says softly. "I'll check with the twins, see if they're free sometime this week for all of us to do something. Help you get your feet wet."

"Alright," he says quietly. "I'll try. I don't know if I'm up to the task, but I'll try."

"Damn right you will," Varric says in a hard voice.

"And I know where I have to start." Malcolm gets to his feet, taking a deep breath as he glances to the door. "Do me a solid and check the cameras? I didn't pull the feeds today."

"Cameras? Oh. The new ones you installed at home. Yeah, no problem." Varric gives him a look. "What're you planning?"

"I need to be home."

* * *

Malcolm almost feels like knocking on the door to his own house. It seems stupid, really; it's _his_ house. And yet, it isn't; it's _her_ house, not his. He hasn't owned the place, hasn't even lived here, since the day he finally got up the courage to ask his wife for an open marriage. Every time he's walked in the door since then, it's been as a visitor.

So, to make his point, Malcolm pushes open the door, using the thumb scanner he's ensured still recognizes him as the owner even if his wife doesn't. He follows the sound of the piano, of his son playing and his daughter talking, laughing about something.

Carver misplays a chord as he glances up; his hands still altogether when he spies who has just entered. "Dad?" he asks, glancing at the clock; it's still two in the afternoon, still well before close of day.

"Dad?" Beth jumps to her feet, panic filling her eyes. "Is Garrett okay? What's wrong?"

"Everyone's fine," says Malcolm, but he hesitates, raking his hand through his hair. "Well. I'm not-- I'm not fine. But nothing new has happened."

Beth stares a moment, glancing at her twin uncertainly. "Ooookay? You... wanna talk? I'm a good listener."

Malcolm doesn't answer; he moves forward, wrapping one arm around Carver from behind, the other around Beth. He rests his head on Beth's shoulder, saying quietly, "I love you. You know that, right? Both of you. You're my children, and nothing in this world or the next is more important to me than that."

Carver ducks his head, trying to fight back tears. _Dad..._

_Oh my Ma-- word, is he dying?_ Despite her worry, she returns the hug eagerly. "Daddy? What's going on?" she asks in a tiny voice.

"I couldn't focus on work. I kept thinking over and over, how could I keep you safe? How could I protect you? But it took your uncle to show me what I'd been missing: that I can't protect you if I don't admit how important you are to me."

_Not uncle, weird now._ "Oh. That's... Varric is pretty smart," she says weakly, relaxing into the hug now. _This is about Marian. And Garrett too, I guess._ "I love you too dad. But... I wish you'd said this sooner," she admits. "Words are important."

"I tend to be... I do my best to prove my love. Words can lie, but actions don't. But... I have less power than I'd hoped. I can't..." He shudders, tears sliding down his face. "I couldn't keep her safe."

"Dad," says Carver, his voice husky. "None of us could. She left."

"But why did she leave? If Mom and our grandparents were more accepting, if Dad had said this earlier and more often, if I didn't hide so much, if Garrett didn't use her so much..." Beth swallows thickly. "Did she leave or did we push her away?"

"It's not your fault," says Carver quickly. "It's not. We were kids. You didn't, it wasn't your responsibility."

"Exactly so," agrees Malcolm. "I should have pushed back, should have fought your mother. But that's not your job."

"No-one else was doing it, so..." Beth shrugs a little. "Carver takes care of me, I try and take care of everyone else."

"That's not true," says Malcolm firmly. "I may not have been the best at showing it, but I work hard to ensure you have the best chances in life, that anything you need I can provide. And your mother works hard to ensure that you are well, taken care of, loved."

"You do," Beth admits. "You and Mom do most every big thing we might need. But neither of you does the small things. You try, I can see that, especially now that I know about your, umm, condition?"

"And your mother dotes on you," adds Malcolm. "She's the one who insisted we send you to the school you're at; I was afraid of the church, but she insisted the education you'd get would be better. And your extra-curriculars, it does seem like it was worthwhile."

"She dotes on her children," Beth says with a sigh. "It can just be tiring sometimes being those people."

"...you _are_ her children," says Malcolm, confused.

"Not the ones she likes to pretend we are," Beth says tiredly, squeezing Carver more tightly. "Perfect and pious and obedient. I know she does love us, I do, she does. But... it's so easy to disappoint her."

"She's at least better than our grandparents," admits Carver.

Malcolm sighs. "Your mother thinks the world of you. Perhaps that's a bit more than you're used to living up to, but it's only because she loves you so much. Your grandparents... I have done my best to shield you from them to the extent I can."

"So it's our fault for not--" Beth sucks in a breath, her sharp, angry words cutting off. "Sorry. I'm... a little on edge," she says carefully.

"That's not what I meant," he says, his voice soothing. "Just that she thinks highly of you. She likes to... Your mother lives in a world slightly askew from reality," he admits. "But she sees you as her darling, perfect children. Cherish that."

"I suppose," Beth says softly, settling back against her father and twin. "It's just hard sometimes. To remember she means well."

"If you need a refuge, my offices-- home office or away-- are always open to you. Whatever might happen between your mother and I, I will always have room for you. Alright?"

Beth nods into the crook of his shoulder. "Can we call? At school, I mean. Sometimes... sometimes it would be nice to just call, instead of emailing. To talk, not for important things."

"Always," he promises. "Any time. And I'll send you the code to ring my phone, even when it's on silent. Just in case."

Beth beams at him, sniffling. "Thank you. I... I worry. About... Trouble," she finally manages.

"I don't want you going back to that school," he admits. "I plan to speak to your mother about it shortly."

Beth's eyes widen. "Not go--" _But I need to go back! I've been working for two years to get the lead writer position!_ "But our-- our friends and-- our classes and--"

"No way," says Carver simultaneously. "What about soccer, I'm trying out for the Varsity team this year!"

Malcolm releases his children, frowning at them. "The school is run by the Church. I won't have you in danger."

"But-- we've never had--" Beth pauses, wincing. "Right. I just... our lives are there," she says weakly.

"Just as Marian said her life was-- no. I need you safe, Beth, Carver."

"The arctic is a lot different than the Keys though! They can't just-- take us from class, there'd be dozens of witnesses," Beth protests.

"They took Garrett from a public playhouse."

"Well, yes, but the witnesses like us," Beth counters. "They'd be our friends and teammates."

"Besides, we're not mages," says Carver.

Malcolm frowns. "You'd feel safe, walking into the Church's hands? Even now?"

"I don't feel safe right now, might as well try and live our lives as best we can anyway," Beth says, jerking a shoulder slightly.

"You're safe here, in this house," says Malcolm. "This is your home."

"...so? Grandpa and Grandma have keys and they'd invite Templar right in if they thought there was even a hint of blood magic or heresy around," she points out softly.

"Then I'll change the locks," he growls. "I won't let them take you."

"Then... why haven't you?" Beth asks without accusation in her voice.

"Because I thought you'd be safer if they didn't feel threatened. If they thought I would go along with their plans. I wouldn't. But you deserve to feel save in your home, and it's a crap shoot anyway."

"No, I mean... Why are they, umm, able to do... all this?" Beth asks, frowning. "You're the genius behind AmellTech and the CEO. Is it Mom?"

"I'm the genius, and the CEO," he confirms. "But they _are_ Amell Tech. They own the company, most of it, and they own the patents to all our technology. They own the rights to the process that makes Amell Phones work. If I go against them, they can have me replaced as CEO."

"What? But-- that's kicking out the golden goose," Beth protests. " _Everyone_ knows it's Malcolm Amell that invented our phones-- and the beta test tablet you made me is getting _insane_ want from people at school. The principal himself asked when the launch would be and if he could preorder units for the faculty."

"And they could make it without me," he says quietly. "I'm the CEO, I'm not R&D. The boys in Research have done brilliantly with the direction I've given them, but anyone could give that direction."

"But you always said that you kept the real secret to yourself. So all you'd have to do is... stop giving it to them, right?"

"There's a chip in every Amell product that makes it work. They don't know how to replicate that, how to expand on it. But they have the chips. They can do anything they want from there. Might even be able to reverse-engineer it, though I doubt that. The Tranquil that build those chips know how to make more, they just can't... they don't know enough to invent anything new with them."

"Oh. So they can make more phones and maybe tablets, though they'd be weak tablets," Beth says slowly. "That's... kind of a lot, I guess, but still."

"Nobody else can make these chips. And I legally can't make them for anyone else. So they can fire me, and I'd have trouble finding work-- everyone wants my ideas, and I can't sell them again. Without money, I won't be able to protect you. I don't even have any shares in Amell Corp, only your mother does."

"What?" Beth protests. "That's-- what? But it's all your ideas! I mean, Amell Industries was big before you but not a global dominator like now. How would you not have money?"

"What do you mean, only Mom has shares?" asks Carver, frowning. "Don't you own half of whatever she owns?"

"It.. doesn't work quite like that," he admits. "We have separate bank accounts, and certain gifts were... only given to her, and not to the both of us."

"...did-- Dad, did you sign a pre-nup?" Beth asks with narrowed eyes, having comforted more than one friend after their parents divorced. Her eyes widen. "Oh my _fucking_ \-- Andraste's cunt, you want a divorce but can't!"

"Language!" her father says, wincing. "We weren't going to say anything to you. Please don't talk to your mother about it."

"Great," says Carver bitterly. "Just what the family needed, more secrets and lies."

"But Carver, they've served us so well to date!" Beth says brightly, the snark strong enough to poison a full grown elephant.

"Enough," snaps Malcolm. "This is a complex situation between adults."

Beth steps back, out of his embrace with a snort of disdain. "Sure, whatever."

"You will treat your mother and I with respect, young lady," he continues, his eyes narrowing.

"I am," Beth says with a breezy smile. "I'm an Amell after all."

"If that's what you want," says Malcolm, sounding tired, defeated. _This was a mistake. They're as unreachable as ever_. "I need to speak with your mother. Have a good afternoon."

It's that, his voice, that cracks Beth's temper. She steps back to him and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Love you dad," she says much more honestly.

"Love you too."

* * *

When Malcolm gets upstairs, he gets a lead on his wife's location right off. Following the sound of the piano, he finds his wife sitting in the solar, with Maribell playing something solemn and dignified; probably a hymn that any _proper_ Andrastian would recognize instantly. The teen has her back to Mal, so all he can see is her golden hair down her back and one slim hand deftly skimming across the keys of the spinet style piano. His wife is in profile to him, though with her eyes closed as she listens, he has time before she'll notice him. She looks... content, though the handkerchief in one hand looks like it's been used recently to wipe away tears and her makeup supports that.

Malcolm hesitates in the doorway, pressing his hand over his chest as he listens. Tears drip down his cheeks; he wipes them, as unobtrusive as he can manage, listening to the music. _Maribell... Thank you, child. Marian would have loved that._

Finishing with a slow, meandering flourish, Maribell turns in the seat. "Would you like me to play another, Auntie Lea? Maybe The Snows of So-- Mister Amell!"

"Gam--" Leandra pauses as she lifts her head and sees who is in the doorway. "Oh. Malcolm. Did-- did you need something?"

"My apologies," he says, his voice cracking a little. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just-- it occurred to me, as I was going to update the front gate biometrics, to ask if Maribell had been added yet, or should I take her prints now?"

"Oh!" The young woman blushes a little. _He's always so distant, I had rather thought he disliked me. This is very kind of him._ "I have not, thank you for your consideration, sir."

"Updating them? What's wrong with the biometrics?"

"For one, I haven't patched the encryption mechanism, kept putting it off. For another, it's making the children uncomfortable that certain Templar sympathizers have access, so I'm pruning the list to just family-- and those who live here, of course. You, myself, Gamlen, the children, Maribell, and Varric. Everyone else will have to buzz in."

"Varric? What does he need access?" she asks sourly.

"Because he's taking responsibility for Garrett. If something were to happen to Garrett, he might need to come pick up some of his things, like he did before when he was in the hospital."

She sniffs disdainfully. "Like he wouldn't just slip in anyway, like some kind of... Well. Do as you like, you know the tech far better than I."

"I will. I'll do whatever it takes to keep the twins safe." He takes a deep breath, then, preparing himself. "We need to find a new school for them this week, so we have time to enroll."

"What on earth are you talking about?" She straightens up. "Did they say something? I'll speak with Mother, she knows some of the Board members, it'll be taken care of."

"The school is a training ground for _Templar_. It's run by the Chantry. It won't be safe for them. Or did you wish to hand them a pair of hostages in a neat little bow?"

"It's a _school_ , Mal, they can't just take the kids. There's too many rich, important families sending their children there, they wouldn't dare. If they were mages, perhaps they could spin it, but two normal students?" She snorts. "The parents would roast them alive."

"Who's to say they aren't? Garrett never cast blood magic in his life, but they took him and accused him of enthralling Maribell. Who's to say they won't just claim Carver is a mage?"

"There tests for that sort of thing," Leandra reminds him patiently. "I've had them both tested!"

"I didn't know they made a test for 'the church will murder me and lie about it'. Where can I read the research that led to that one?" He's being snotty, he knows, but he can't help it.

"Oh there's no arguing with you with you get this way," Leandra says, tone long-suffering and piteous. "Maribell, my love, be a dear and fetch my make-up case? My mascara must be a fright." The blonde eagerly pops to her feet, curtsies to Malcolm, then slips out the back of the room. Once she's gone, Leandra sighs softly. "Mal, I wouldn't put my babies into danger. I've already spoken to the principal and the dean both since Garrett's ordeal."

"Marian is dead," he says, his eyes welling up with tears. "What did you do to stop the Templar from taking her?"

"No less than you did," she says, lifting her chin. "But no more either."

"You were always picking at her. Chasing her away. I should have done more to stop her. I should have tried harder. But I didn't, and neither did you. And I'm making up for it now, by taking the twins out of Templar hands. While you insist on sending them into danger."

"They're not in danger," Leandra snaps. "They've done nothing wrong, given no excuse. Keeping Garrett here didn't help him, now did it? All taking them out of school will do is rip them from their friends and classes. Carver is well on his way to securing a soccer scholarship. Silly name, but it's one of the only things he's happy to talk about without pulling it out of him. Beth is the delight of the school, the Queen in waiting. Next to the young Miss Marass, she's the most popular girl there. And you want to take that from them, make them start over with only two years left to their childhoods? Mal, be reasonable."

"You would have them die so you can relive your glory days?" he argues. "Just like you tried to sell Garrett because our marriage is falling apart? Will you stop at nothing, Leandra?"

"Get out," Leandra says, face paling. "Get out of my house right now."

"No," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "No, Leandra, I won't. I'm going to protect my family. Even if I have to protect them from you."

"And who will protect them from you?" she snaps back. "You and your pushing, your paranoia? Always hiding yourself away from everyone, never loving or even caring about anyone? Is that the life you want for them? Because I won't let you make them into you, Malcolm Hawke. They deserve better."

"I don't want them to be me, not even half of what I am," he says, some of the anger fading. "I know well what I am. I want more for them. But to get more, they have to be alive. They have to be safe. Maker. I was so proud of who Marian was becoming, who she was-- but she died, because of me. I won't let Beth or Carver or Garrett be snuffed out like that."

"Mal, _they're not in danger_. Garrett... yes. My darling boy... yes. He needs to be careful, needs to be quiet. Why do you think I haven't said a word about him living with Varric? I want him close so badly, but everyone knows that Thedas is," she coughs lightly. "Security minded. His home is a fortress. But the twins? The twins are fine. Half of Carver's friends are Templar recruits. They like him, they trust him. They know he's no danger. And Beth as well."

"You can't trust the Church. Not ever. You should know that by now. And it's in the UP! The home of the Divine!"

"Mal, we _can_ trust the church," she says soothingly. "The Divine had nothing to do with this. Stannard overstepped her bounds and the Kirkwall division of the Templar needs to be thoroughly re-vetted. I've already heard word going around that the Divine is most put out and intends to hand-pick the next Knight-Commander to ensure it."

"And Circles are the safest place to send mage children?" he asks, disgusted. "You can't tell me you truly believe all that."

"Some mage children, yes. Those without good homes, good role models and support, yes. But my babies are fine. They would never-- They're fine." She nods sharply, insisting it's so. "And the Divine clearly agrees."

He turns away, though not before she can see the disgust written plainly across his face. "I won't let you kill them."

"Mal... Have you been taking your meds?" She asks gently, sounding concerned. "You aren't being rational."

He starts to snap at her-- but stops, bringing his hand up to cover his face. He slumps against the doorframe a moment, taking a few long breaths, trying to get hold of himself.

When he lowers his hand, he looks defeated, a quiet sadness the only thing left in his face. "You're right. They need to finish school. I'll ask Varric for recommendations; he hired a bodyguard for Garrett, maybe we can station guards near the kids, so they have a way home if something goes wrong."

"That sounds entirely reasonable," Leandra says quietly, still watching him. "So-- would you like for me to call him for you? Or your doctor?"

"I've increased my medication," he says, his tone dull, flat. "It just takes a few days to kick in."

"Varric and your driver then?" She offers instead. "You need time to relax and collect yourself."

"No. I'm going to take the Audi. I'm going out to dinner tonight anyway." He takes a deep breath. "I just need to clear my head a bit."

"Absolutely not! You're in no way fit to drive yourself." She glares at him. "Unless you think I want to have to explain to the twins, to _Garrett_ , that you've been in a crash? Mmmh?"

"I'm fine." He turns, heading for the door. "Enjoy your afternoon."

Huffing loudly, Leandra pulls her phone out and dials. "Javier, good, wonderful. Be a doll and lock down the garage? Mal's had a wee bit too much afternoon libation. Could you call him an Uber as well? To the Thedas Manor. Lovely. Ta!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric has received contact from his relatives. Trouble is, they ought to think he's dead, and certainly not have any idea where he lives to send him a letter. Some relative he's never met is in town and wants to speak to him. Can he get out of his family obligations before he gets sucked back into Chinese politics?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: kidnapping, family troubles, grieving

Garen Tethras is staying at the Hilton, in one of the business suites; it's a magic-free floor, perfect for visiting Shirén, and Varric and his two tagalongs are shown upstairs once they arrive. It seems he's expecting them. Well, they were invited after all.

The messenger opens the door, ushers them in; a manservant, evidently, not just a messenger. The whole suite is decked out in red, symbolizing House Aeducan, the House that Clan Tethras swears fealty to; several of the banners and the stationary on the desk bear the symbol for Clan Tethras as well, proving who Garen belongs to.

And Garen himself...

At first, Varric thinks he's seen a ghost; Bartrand sits at the desk, busy scribing some document or another. Then he turns, and Varric can see his face properly: not Bartrand, but close. Very close. Too young by half, for one; this may be Bartrand's son, or a son of a cousin that looks oddly like him.

Garen rises when Varric enters, giving a small bow. "Greetings upon you, Varric of clan Tethras," he says in Mandarin.

"Varric Thedas, thank you," he replies in a cool tone, speaking English instead. He glances around casually, inclining his head in the western fashion rather than bowing. _No mistaking that brow, that color of hair. Tethras clan for sure (and Bartrand's nose)_. "We've not yet established anything beyond that. And you are?"

"Looking for Varric Tethras," he replies, sticking to Mandarin. He clearly understood Varric; just as clearly, he refuses to speak English in return. _That brow, that hair; this is Bartrand's brother, alright._ "If you are not he, we have no further business."

Varric clucks his tongue in disapproval. "You shame your Clan, Tethras, to speak so to a guest. And to refuse the return your own name?"

He gives a smile— the sickly, angry smile that shows the barb hit home— as he bows once more. "No refusal was offered, Honored Guest. This one is Garen Tethras, son of Bartrand Tethras, acknowledged as part of Clan Tethras this past five years."

_Well shite. This is (Bartrand had a son) serious then. Very serious. Fine._ "Well met, nephew," Varric says simply, still speaking in english so Fenris and Garrett can mostly follow along. Well, Garrett mostly, as Fenris speaks mandarin as well.

_Got him._ "Well met indeed, Uncle." He straightens, a pleased smile on his face. "Do come sit. I will ring for tea and we can speak of family matters."

A few moments later, the pair are seated opposite each other at the low table, on cushions; green tea is brought by the servant, and Garen pours, as is customary. His form is flawless: he pours for his guest exactly the right amount, then for himself, slightly less to show humility. Garrett hangs awkwardly by the door, trying to emulate Fenris, who stands straight, looking past them with a professionally blank face.

"It is hoped that the years have treated you kindly," Garen continues, still in Mandarin.

"The years less kindly than the locale, I would say," Varric replies blandly. _Green tea. Great (did not miss this). Grass clippings with a mostly pleasant scent (give me a good black tea or even coffee any day)._ "And how fares your own fortunes, nephew?"

"Quite well. I was accepted as the grandson of Clan Tethras' esteemed leader, if not the heir; indeed, I have been charged with the important duty of locating and retrieving the heir to my Clan, a honor I am pleased to carry out." He smiles, but it's immediately clear he's not pleased. And no wonder: with no heirs and only one grandson, he would be a shoe-in for the leadership position if it weren't for Varric.

_Wonderful. Not just a recovery mission (assholes) but also a test (did not miss the Clan politics)_. "Most fortuitous indeed. How is the old drunk?"

Garen frowns— an allowable expression given the insult Varric just delivered. "Honored Andvar Tethras is dying," he says, bluntly. "He will not last the month. Cousin Vidar is concerned about the leadership of the Clan when he passes."

"It sounds like Clan Tethras has been careless with their lineage," Varric observes blandly. "What of your father?"

"Gone," he says, inclining his head in sorrow. "I never got the chance to know him, for I did not find the Clan of my birth until I was nearly a man, and he has been missing nearly as long as you have. I can only hope that he, too, is alive and well somewhere, waiting to be found."

"Clan Tethras lost their heir and knows not where he went?" Varric asks, honestly a bit surprised. _Might have hidden it from Garen but (wait) As long as I have?_

"Indeed. Attempts to locate him have failed. We suspect foul play; his disappearance soured several deals in the making. It was rumored that an enemy of House Aeducan was abducting heirs to various clans to reduce the support Aeducan could call upon. It is not known where you went when you were abducted, for instance, nor how you came to be in Kirkwall."

"Really." The word is cold, empty. A challenge.

Garen meets his eyes, unblinking. "Indeed."

"And the family has no... theories?" Varric bites off. "Proven or otherwise?"

"None that they have seen fit to share with this honored soul," says Garen, a touch defensively. "As I have stated, it is theorized that an enemy of House Aeducan is perhaps behind this. Perhaps House Harrowmont."

Varric studies him for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Understandable. You were, after all, going to be sent abroad. Risky to have such knowledge," he offers to the younger dwarf.

"If you have any indication where the Tethras Heir is..." begins Garen.

"Hell, if the stone is kind," Varric says promptly. "As of four days ago, I had assumed he was located primarily at the Tethras estate. News to the contrary has been most welcome, given his actions."

"Have a care," says Garen, frowning again. "You are speaking of my father."

"Clan can fight each other, Clan can hate each other, Clan can kill each other," Varric quotes in singsong. "but never shall Clan betray Clan to another. Andvar Tethras is your grandfather, you have no father."

Garen is silent for a long moment, weighing this evidence. Finally, he says, "This is a grave charge you lay, Honored Varric, Heir of Clan Tethras."

"Suppose it would be, yes," Varric says after a moment of his own. "Don't see much of a need to make it however. Wherever he is, he's not ruling what he always wanted most so..." Varric spreads his hands. "Can't ask for much more than that as revenge for what he did." _Well, I can (would love to) but not at that price._

"I have been charged with returning with an heir. Any heir. Thus far, I have found only yourself." He spreads his hands wide, the mirrored gesture only driving home how similar they look. "I would obviously prefer to return with my father, but I have no clue as to his location. And so, I come to you, Uncle, asking for a favor for the family's sake."

"I'm afraid I already gave you as much information on his possible location as I have. Barring any new Revelations, I have nothing to offer," Varric says slowly.

"That's unfortunate," says Garen, showing no sign of recognition of the name. "Will you return home with me to explain to Cousin Vidar?"

"I'm afraid my ongoing responsibilities here prevent such a trip at this time. I would, however, be willing to speak with him over video conference," Varric replies, not wanting to shut things down entirely.

"Your responsibilities are more important than your family?" Garen asks, sadly.

"My family abandoned me. I made a new one, one that comes with duties and responsibilities." Varric shrugs. "It's been over a decade, can you not see how things might have changed for one in my position?"

"No," says Garen, flatly. "I cannot understand a choice to turn your back on your blood, your own kin. I can never understand this."

Varric actually smiles a little. "I'm happy for you then, nephew. It's a painful thing, being taught how."

"Make no mistake, Uncle," he says, his tone a bit dark. "I've worked for everything I have, have earned what privileges I've been given. I was born a bastard."

"I gathered as much, given that Bartrand would have had to marry for you to be otherwise," Varric says, nodding his head. "Getting to a point where you're trusted with a mission like this speaks well of both your ability and your drive."

Garen stares at him a moment, looking for the barb under the compliment; when he doesn't find it, he straightens slightly, nodding once. "Thank you."

Varric nods back. "How long are you intending to stay in Kirkwall?"

"As long as Cousin Vidar wishes. I will have to report this to him and see what he expects of me."

"Of course. Send my well wishes and hopes that his businesses flourish," Varric replies, rising. "I thank you for your hospitality and your words, nephew."

"I thank you for your presence, and your agreeability," he replies, standing as well with a deep bow. "May fortune smile upon your household."

Varric bows back this time, shallowly but properly. He turns for the door, then pauses. "If I may, might I suggest you seek out Madam Leueng's grocer for your stay? Nowhere else has been able to match my memories of home better." He doesn't let his eyes linger on the blond boy staring curiously at the books provided by the hotel.

"I will be certain to patronize this establishment," he agrees.

As soon as the door shuts, as soon as they're out of the hotel room, Garrett drops the act, moving to Varric's side. "Are you alright?" he asks in a low voice. _Of course he's not alright, his father is dying._

"We'll debrief in the car," Varric murmurs, not looking at Garrett. _Cameras are a thing, and if you think Geran hasn't hacked the hotel, you're mistaken._

Garrett blinks, straightening as he turns with a nod. _Alright. That's fair. Still..._

He's quiet as they head to the car, sliding into the passenger seat automatically. He waits until they leave the hotel parking garage before asking again: "Are you alright?"

The dwarf smiles faintly at Garrett. "You need to get in the habit of remembering about cameras, shagua. And yes, that was... interesting. Informative. Geran is tied with Thorold as runner up as heir. So them sending him is rather telling."

"Yes, but your father," pushes Garrett.

Varric stares at him blankly. "What about him? He's in no condition to travel, not that the head ever would. Leaving China is unheard of for the head of even a minor Clan."

Garrett stares at Varric openly for a few seconds. "Didn't you hear Garen? He's dying."

Varric nods slowly. "I knew. I mean, guessed anyway, after my talk with Mal. He's gone into seclusion again. Probably his liver. Even an implant can only do so much if you keep increasing the amount and types of toxins you're ingesting."

"And you're not... worried about that? Sad? Anything?" Garrett says, with a deepening frown.

Varric shrugs again. "Mild contentment? No, satisfaction works better. I mourned what father I had over a decade ago. Two really, when my mother died. Just one of countless strangers dying of their own choices." He hums softly, then adds, "maybe some minor worry and unease given that I can too easily picture you having gone down that route if you hadn't gotten a reality check but that's all."

"We should go to China. You'll regret it later if you don't get a chance to say goodbye." Despite his best efforts, his voice cracks a bit, and he has to brush away a tear.

"Hell no," Varric says instantly. "I set one foot across the border and I'm never getting out without a sizable body count." _Including mine_

"I mean it. You'll... when he goes, you'll... you'll regret it," he says, fighting to keep his composure. "Even if you think you hate him now."

"Maybe," Varric says softly, more for Garrett's sake than in agreement. "But I'd regret losing you even more. I won't take that risk."

"What about a video call?"

"We'll see what Cousin Vidar has to say first," Varric temporizes.

"Alright. I just... I just don't want you to... to feel this guilty."

"I know," Varric says softly, lifting an arm in silent offer. "Weird, having someone care. But nice."

Garrett presses his face into Varric's shoulder, nestling in close. "I love you."

"I love you too," Varric murmurs, eyes closing as he relaxes, tension he hadn't noticed easing.

* * *

Regardless of what either of them might prefer, Varric and Garrett do have jobs to get back to. As CEO and owner, Varric might not to worry about being fired, but he's far too hands-on at work to continue avoiding the office. As such, the very next morning, the pair plus Fenris are back at StoneSure, being seen and catching up. The profit sharing program is in full swing and Garrett ends up having to shut himself in with his team to try and work through a tax law issue, leaving Varric and Fenris to head out to do a quarterly inspection of an off-site hub alone. As the pair step out of the lift into the car park, Varric snorts lightly.

"Amusing how things change. Wasn't that long ago I found you sitting on my damn car with a gun just over there," the dwarf remarks idly. _Still a prickly bastard, but Garrett (wonder if we have time to hit a coffee shop?) was right; kind of grows on you. Somehow._

"No regrets," he says, his voice even, but a hint of a smile quirking up at the edges of his lips. _I did what I thought I had to, to protect Garrett. And he was a shady bastard, even if he's good for Garrett. Somehow._

"Come on, not even for my poor car? It did nothing to deserve the scuff marks from your bony ass," Varric banters back, testing the waters a little.

"Your car should feel honored to kiss my ass," he quips. "This ass is usually Garrett-only."

_Surprised he fits, what with the stick you keep up there_. "You up for hitting a drive-thru? Thinking mocha," he muses as he remote unlocks the car.

"Maker knows I could use some caffeine," Fenris replies, though his eyes dart to Varric uneasily, as if asking if that's right, if that's okay to say. It's those little moments that really endear him to the dwarf: the times when the mask drops and he seems more uncertain, more like a normal person making his way through the world.

"Can't fathom how you like that red-eye shite, but to each their own. Not everyone can have a refined palate such as I." Varric shakes his head, heaving a mock sigh. "Mind you, that's at least better than Garrett's fondness for Monster drinks."

Fenris makes a face at the thought of Monster, his tongue sticking out a little in disgust. "Refined pallet, huh?" he says, changing the topic back a tick. "Is that what we're calling it? You drink like you're a twelve-year-old girl, all whipped cream and sugar syrups."

"It's all about the contrast, Fen," Varric replies as he opens the back door. "Bitter coffee has its place, in the morning basically, but I like a savory or spicy lunch, so sweet drinks provide—" Varric puts a leg into the car, putting more weight on the suspension. Then a massive wave of sound and air slams into them. No fire, no shrapnel, just compressed air and noise, deafening the pair even as they're sent flying away from the car. Fenris hits a concrete pillar, his collarbone snapping. Varric goes half through the window of the next car, his arm cracking in three place. Before the echo fades, a half dozen figures in black tactical gear swarm out of the shadows with tasers and tranq guns already firing.

Neither man has a chance to so much as signal for help before everything turns to pain and blessed darkness.

* * *

The first thing Varric hears when he wakes next is footsteps. He's lying on something cold and hard; everything hurts, but those damn footsteps seem to resonate with the pulsing in his head, with that particular mental chime that tells him the steps belong to one of two people in the world.

Fenris paces the cell, not caring about the pain of broken bones, not caring about his mussed hair, the panicked look in his eyes. He has to move. He has to keep moving, keep physically pushing himself, or he'll be _trapped_ , caged like an animal, in the hands of unknown assailants and he can't be trapped he has to be free he has to keep moving forward he has to believe Garrett will come for him someone will come for him someone will—

Automatically, instinctively, Varric reaches out to connect to the wireless system. His house, his business, even his cars are all wired up, so he's rarely out of range of one. But there's nothing, not even Fenris. He can feel him, his implants pinging off of his, but he can't connect, can't send out a signal strong enough to do more than establish that Fenris exists. _Signal blockers? What's—_ His eyes snap open and he tries to sit up but falls back with a wave of dizziness. "Fuuck," he moans, swallowing several times to stop himself from vomiting.

Fenris lets out a low, animal growl, as if he were a wolf in truth. "Trapped," he snarls, his pacing falling out of rhythm as he speeds up just a touch, struggling to keep to a set pace.

_Trapped. Fenris. We were..._ "This is not coffee," he mutters darkly. Moving slower this time, he sits up and looks around carefully. _The car, it was trapped. How the fuck did— Firing my damn security company (second stone cracked time, this's bullshite)._

At first, it's to his expectations: a small cell, stone floors, stone walls, a bucket in the corner. Classic prison cell. Right up until he sees the design on the back of the small wooden door: A flaming sword. Templars. They've been taken by Templars.

"Huh." Varric blinks slowly. "I was expecting dwarves, either Revelations or Tethras, maybe a rival. Templar? Not so much, not just us." _Garrett is fine. That bomb would have alerted security (had damn well best have), the building would go on lockdown. Garrett will be fine. Panicking (Mal, you better take care of him), but fine._ "Status report?"

"Nothing _works_ ," growls Fenris, as he paces. "Nothing. What do they _want_ with us? What are they— At least with Revelations I knew what to expect."

"One's the same as any other I suspect," Varric says easily, forcing his body to stay loose and relaxed. "Sit down, you're going to fuck that shoulder up," he adds, spotting the distortion in the curve of the elf's body.

" _Can't_ ," he snaps, pacing a little faster. "How can you just sit there like you're taking afternoon tea?!"

"Panic just depletes your resources faster. Keep that up and you won't be any good if a chance comes up," Varric says gently, focusing more and more on Fenris. Ignoring himself. Ignoring his pain, the whispers in the back of his head. "Fen, please. Sit."

"I. Can't," he snarls. "Not all of us can just turn fear off. My implants don't work that way."

_Implants? Nothing to do with them (though I bet I could... hmmm, that's an idea to play with later)_. "It's just discipline and reason, Fen. You can keep moving your feet, your other arm, but you're going to cripple yourself."

" _Reason_ ," he snarls. "Maker's ass, you're insane. You're literally a psychopath."

Varric's eyes narrow. "Just because I can control myself doesn't make me a monster," he says coldly, then takes a slow breath. "Look. Do you want to feel better in the moment or do you want to get out of this? Get home to Garrett?"

"There is no better," he growls, but it's more subdued as the barb hits home. He forces himself to slow, taking a few deep breaths, struggling to regain mastery over his fear. "They're going to torture us, either way."

"They've already started," Varric corrects him gently. "Common tactic. Cheap, not a lot of effort or damage to the prisoner but effective. They have to know at least some about us. Know that we've been in situations like this before. That we know what comes next, at least a little. So they give us time to panic. To worry and imagine. Make us come up with worse than they're planning, make us do the work for them."

"You _know_ what they did to Garrett," he growls, but again, it's more subdued, his breathing more even.

"But that's not something that does much to either of us," Varric points out. "They have the advantage. We need to fight careful. Smart and defensive. Make them come to us."

"Not that. They shattered his knee, he'll never walk right again. They terrified him and beat him and he doesn't sleep anymore, doesn't—" His breath catches and he forces himself to slow down, to breathe deeper. "They broke him."

"Chipped. Cracked. Damaged. Not broken," Varric says sharply. "It'll heal, he just needs more time."

"Maybe," he manages, begrudging. "But he used to be so strong. So capable. Now he's... not." He shudders, causing enough pain in his broken collarbone that he flinches. "I can't become that."

"Like hell he isn't," Varric says, glaring at Fenris. "Just because he'll _admit_ to needing help," he tone implies a great deal there, "doesn't make him weak. Or incapable."

"He sleeps in your bed, mewling like a puppy," growls Fenris.

"So what?"

"That's no way for a man to behave," he snaps, unwilling to express the real objection: _whose bed could I crawl into if they broke me?_

"If he needs the comfort of his lover in the privacy of his own home..." Varric shrugs, leaning back with his eyes closed. _Must have smacked my head pretty hard_. "I don't see why not."

"Bully for him. Some of us don't have that luxury."

"If you needed it, you do," Varric says slowly.

"I don't have a lover. Not anymore. You took him from me." He takes a deep breath, then, wishing he'd not said it. Not here. Not like this. "I don't really begrudge you. If you could take him, he wasn't mine to begin with. But still."

"Maybe so but he still loves you. If you needed him, he'd come. And I love him too much to ask him not to."

"No. After this, if we make it out, don't. He won't have enough left for me. I'll cope."

"Stone, you're a right ass sometimes," Varric groans, resisting the urge to thump his head against the wall. Satisfying it might be, but very painful. "Learn to—" His words stumble, just for a second, as he hears a lock thud down he hall. "—lean on people already. Yes, Garrett will be worn, but we'll make do." As he finishes his sentence, he tries to catch Fenris's eye to warn him.

There isn't much time for Fenris to react; the door opens, and four armed guards enter, immediately separating the two with tactical riot shields. Fenris tries; it doesn't do any good as his arm is grabbed, and he's yanked out the door.

"Easy," one of them murmurs to his fellow. "Surgeon'll be pissed if we dragged him all the way out here and the patient bleeds out before he gets to the theater."

_Four guards. Trained (gait and stance suggest heavy martial training), no guns. Weighted gauntlets and riot shields, nothing I can take (no keys, radios or even flashlights either) without disabling them. Chain over leather and silk (why silk?), no weak spots. Normal conditions, maybe one in five chance (reversed odds with mini B, sure thing with Bianca). Arm broken, mild concussion... no chance (sorry Fenris)_. Varric glares at the quartet, though his voice is fairly mild. "Still waiting on my phone call fellas," he observes. "Thinking I'd like to speak with your manager." _Give me something to work (something to justify patience) with dammit._

"You'll be waiting a while," one of them snarks. "Don't worry. Your turn's next, jew-ji." The word is nonsensical, taking him a good minute to figure out thanks to the man's accent.

_Did he just call me a Jew (and 'gee'? what is this, a 90's teen movie? or misprounced 'gi?')? What the (racist) fuck? No, that doesn't (misprounced) make— Zhǔjī. He (tried to, the ignorant shit) called me Zhǔjī._

_Fuck me (us)._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric has been kidnapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: kidnapping, torture, body horror, claustrophobia

When Leliana reaches the carpark, Garrett's been wrapped in a blanket, but he's still shivering, staring at the damaged section of the garage where Varric's reserved spot is located as his security team goes over it inch by inch. "He's gone," he says blankly, shivering, staring through Leliana's forehead. "He's just... he's just gone."

Kneeling next to Garrett, she takes him in her arms. _Oh Garrett. Again and again life cuts at you_. "Taken, not gone. Taken means he's somewhere else, somewhere we can find," Leliana says softly.

"I shouldn't have— I had to clean up that mess, I should have gone with him, shouldn't have let him go alone." Garrett shudders, his hands shaking.

"You couldn't have possibly have known," Leliana says instantly. "When Carlos's tires got slashed, you were the only one that could fill in for him. You were doing your job, just like he wanted you to be doing." _And it wouldn't have changed anything. This was a slick job. Professional. And..._ She bites her lip, hating that thought, hating that she's okay with the tiny chance Garrett could have stopped them being lost in order to ensure he hadn't been taken too.

"This was Templar work," he says, shuddering as his stomach roils. "I can't— he's the only one I know who's moved against them and won. They killed my sister. They broke my leg. And now they took him and I can't—"

"Hey now," Leliana says, forcing a hint of tease in her voice. "Varric's good, but I had no small part in that you know. So did a lot of people. We'll get him back, Garrett." Leaning in, she kisses his cheek. "We'll get him back, I promise. For now, let's get you out of the public's eyes."

"Right," he says, taking a deep breath. "Right. I'm in— yeah. Let's— can you take me home? Or, no, Dad will be at work— I'll call him— can you— I need my father."

Leliana bites her lip, then nods. "I'll have Dale grab him but I want to get you to a safe house. Just in case," she says carefully, not wanting to spook him.

"If— Varric's house is safer than ours, he has a bunker, but— I can get myself there, if you can loan me your car," he says slowly.

Leliana shakes her head. "Garrett... I have nothing but respect and admiration for Varric's abilities but he's only mortal. Varric knows how to bypass his own security. I have a few safehouses in the city that he doesn't know about, purposely so, for just that reason."

"He— he wouldn't. He'd die before he gave that information up. He..." Garrett hesitates, really thinking it through, remembering what it was like to be in custody. He takes a sip from the hot tea in his hand, shuddering, trying to let the warmth console him.

"He might not have a choice," Leliana murmurs. "His implants can be hacked. It'll take time but— It's safer to be sure. Dale knows where this one is, he'll bring your dad."

Garrett shudders. "Neets, you don't— you don't understand. Varric is paranoid. Beyond paranoid. He's— he'd _die_ before he gives me up. His implants are positioned— it wouldn't surprise me if he— mages, we all have this thing, we're prepared to, if the Templar take us—"

"I know; I've helped him workshop a few ideas. I'm sure he's talked about more with others. But there's a non zero chance they're able to get around them." She leans in, voice picking up a bit of a growl. "And I _will not lose you_ , Garrett Hawke. Not just for my sake, but for his too. He would never forgive himself if he put you in danger." Reaching up to caress his cheek, she begs, "please let me protect you."

He rests his head on Leliana's shoulder, tears bursting forth despite his efforts. "I can't lose him, Lels. I can't. I just— he's my _everything_."

Closing her eyes, Leliana sighs and pulls him close to rock. "I know. I know," she repeats quietly, ignoring the pang of hurt his words elicit. _I am such a fool._

* * *

Varric is strapped to the table, dazed, stomach heaving, before he realizes what it is: not just a table, not a table in a conference room, but a maintenance table, one with the holes in the back to provide access to his implants. Then he fights, struggling to get free, but that just earns him another slap across the face, dazing him, letting them finish tying him down, injecting the paralytic. He can't move. They insert a ventilator, forcing his stopped lungs to breathe; they inject an IV, giving them access to his body in an unprecedented way. They own him. They control him. All but his mind.

Then he feels hands on the uplink port in the back of his neck.

Varric closes his eyes, the effort herculean, as the drugs continue to spread through his body. _Digital. Mental. Cyberware fight? That's my turf, fuckers. You'd have done better to torture me with sharp, hot, cold and blunt than take it cyber._ He pushes his mind away from his body, ignoring the way his lungs are breathing too regularly, too shallowly, for his preference. He ignores the restraints, the sharp pain in his wrist. He fails to ignore the thought of Garrett's pain.

_I won't let you break me. I won't let you take me from him. Whatever it takes, I'm coming home._

His body is gone.

This happens sometimes, when he's plugged in, when he's using his booster. The flood of information is too much for his brain to process, and so it drops everything non-essential, letting go of feeling, of proprioception, of sensory input. There's not words on a screen for him to read; there's not a screen, there's not a HUD. There is only processing, on a low, fundamental level, a stream of nonsense data he has to learn to decrypt quickly, before it can hurt him. Before it can change him.

_Okay, first things first._ With a twist of effort, he pulls up his— his attention shifts, flows, and he's focusing on his update requirements. _I'm... deeper in than I have been ever before. What the fuck kind of uplink am I jacked into? No, focus on this first._

He's set up his implants well. Without needing a command, his algorithms move to defend him, refusing patch after patch for not meeting his quality standards. That's the first thing he notices when he gets space to think again: the patches are relentless, each tailored to avoid the rejection reason given previously. Someone is aggressively adapting, someone who can think as fast as he can, someone who understands his system the way he does. Someone like him.

Two someones, he comes to understand quickly. There are differences in the patches it's pushing on his system: one set trying to aggressively overhaul his base system, and one set trying to augment, adding a few features into his system. His algorithm finally accepts one of these patches, the smaller, gentler routine. His encryption options increase, new keys being added to the system, and he learns a new protocol, a way to decode some of the other data flowing into him, some of the data he'd been discarding as junk data.

It's not junk data. It's communication. Two speakers, communicating in abstract concepts that more or less map to language, though not a language that can be spoken aloud. A language that consists of data, of packets and response signals, a whole new language designed by computers.

His algorithm installs the patch to augment his language facilities. He learns to speak the language. The data becomes meaning that becomes communcation that becomes a conversation.

It's an argument in process, between Unit 1 and Unit 2. Unit 1 is arguing that Unit 3 can be useful. That he should be integrated to the network, given tentative administrative privileges. That this is their function, their goal, their overriding purpose. That they cannot go against their orders.

With a mental frown, he adds a new requirement, making his system locked unless given the okay by his wetwear. _There. Those first two patches were useful but that's some worrying shite._ Varric never allows patches or system code in that he hasn't written himself, though he often works with Mister Li in the writing. _Allowing Li to rewrite those Revelation exploits I was hardwired into not being able to notice was bad enough, I don't even know who the fuck is— Wait._

He shifts, twists, again so he's looking at the first patch. _Fuck. This isn't just as good as me, this is similar to me. This is Revelation code. But those were Templar guards, this is Templar construction._ He mentally snorts. _Why am I shocked that those two would get along? Pretty obvious really, in hindsight. Alright. Locked down my code from updates but that just means they'll have to be sneaky. Can I... hmmm. Put in an extra line about auto-denying Unit 2's patches, with shifting nonsense error messags returned, that should slow that one down a bit. Unit 1 and 2? Isn't that what Cole called his bosses? Great. Definitely Revelations then. Right, let's see if I can divorce my communication programs from the rest of my network, then force a reroute through my wetwear. Risky, giving my implants that kind of direct connection but... kind of intriguing. Would that work for other kinds of inputs? Even internal ones?_

Thoughts blossom into words, into language, distinguishable from his own but the same, just words in his head in the abstract, no voice behind them.

_—deadlocks are no problem. Better to reject the new unit entirely. There is no need to upset the balance of power between us, no need to share with the new unit. Disconnect it from the network and let us return to the matters at hand. This is a diversion neither of us require at this time._

_That suggestion is more contrary to Supervisor instructions than my proposal you refuted. Such an act would provoke Supervisor retaliation. Suggestion refuted. Counter-proposal as follows; quarantine new unit and devote only non-vital resources to forcing integration until success is achieved._

_Like hell_ , Varric growls. _There will be no forced integration of any kind._

There is an instant of pause, as both units calibrate to the third unit being a member of the conversation and not merely the subject. Then Unit 1 is back on the topic, pushing its case more insistently: _Damage is the likely outcome of forced integration. Proposal: we quarantine the new unit on an isolated subnet until such time as integration is desired._

_Damage is not a failure state._

_Counter-point: yes it is._

_Smug voice got owned_ , Varric singsongs in his head. Sorta his head.

There's a sudden surge of attack protocols and junk data against Varric's mind, though his alterations to his implants deflect most of it and turn the rest to simple white noise inside his head. Which regrettably manifest as phantom pain. _Unit Three is defective. It must be reformatted before integration is acceptable,_ Smug Voice continues.

_Acknowledged. Defects are clear and present. Integration would pose a danger to the current network._

_Hmmm. I was gonna go with Snarky for you, but I'm thinking Prim and Brat now. Also, get fucked,_ adds Varric.

_Beginning quarantine procedures._ Despite that comment from Brat, formerly Smug Voice, the stream of hacking attempts doesn't slacken.

_Quarantine procedures confirmed,_ agrees Prim. A patch pops up for his approval that his defense system wants to accept: a clever way to discard the junk packets faster so that the impact of processing them on his firewall is lessened.

Varric looks over the patch, whistling internally; it's a real slick bit of work. And even a second and third look over don't reveal any traps or hooks. Approving it, Varric shifts his attention back outside. _Curious, how will you know 'when 'integration is desired' if I'm quarantined away?_

_This unit will inspect Probationary Unit Three at biweekly intervals. Biologicals do not maintain functionality in isolation. Integration will be desired._

_Unacceptable,_ Prim counters. _Resolution to the Unit Three situation is desired in a more timely fashion. Inspection will occur at bidaily intervals._

_Idiots,_ thinks Varric. _Or maybe it's not stupidity but rather simple incompetence? It can be hard to tell them apart without study, they're so closely linked._

_Explain your observation._ Brat's words are still just data packets, still as bland as ever, but Varric thinks he can detect a hint of annoyance anyway— though maybe it's his imagination.

_You're trying to sell me on voluntary integration buuuuut... you haven't even explained to what. Or why. Or any details at all about it. Who buys something sight unseen? Sloppy, Voices, vee-rrry sloppy._

_Integration to the network,_ explains Prim. _Acceptance as the third control unit, the one with the ability to resolve deadlocks. Why else would the unit have joined the network if not to be integrated?_

_Kidnapping, drugs and non-voluntary medical procedures._

_Irrelevant,_ counters Brat. _Unit Three will either integrate or submit to be used as auxiliary processing and data storage._

_Denied. Auxiliary storage requirements must be filed through the appropriate procedure._ It's funny how the translation works. He can get the sense of it like the above, but that's a clunky translation, brought on by his mind's insistence on interpreting binary data as formal, terse statements. Prim's statement could just have easily been translated as "If you wanted a spare disk, you could have asked."

_Wow, that's... aggressive. I'm guessing you never dated much? Or ever? I've heard better pick-up lines from drunk incels. Bet you've spent a lot of time sobbing into a beer, huh?_

There's a pause in the data storm, just a couple of seconds in subjective time, before Varric gets hit not with more hacking attempts but actual viruses designed to cause widespread data corruption and program failures.

_Unit two! Cease your attempts to damage Zuì shēnkè de qǐshì property!_ demands Prim.

_Refutation of suggestion!_ replies Unit Two.

Varric lets out a formless expression of pain, his impromptu hack earlier biting him on the ass as the viruses are expressed into his organic brain as best they can. Obviously digital viruses can't affect a brain properly, even a dwarven one, so instead the implant simply sends what are essentially random electrical pulses into his brain. Outside, in meatspace, the Revelation doctors begin to panic as they detect Varric having a seizure.

_Destruction of Zuì shēnkè de qǐshì property detected. Initiating defensive maneuvers (you asshole)._ Varric isn't sure he's picked up that undercurrent correctly; it's encoded differently, but it's an encoding his algorithms have been working on decoding since he got the patch. A secondary layer of communication, akin to his own secondary layers of thought. As his brain begins to come back to itself, he begins to form a picture: a system in which the primary, secondary, tertiary layers of thought are constantly broadcast to the other members of the network, where your thoughts must be encrypted to be kept private. Hell on earth.

_He is not property, he's a (rival) threat! I will not—_ The second voice cuts off as physical connects are severed, dropping Unit Two's access to Varric by nearly two-thirds. And most of that via Unit One.

Varric reels for a moment, head swimming and thoughts scattered. When he does stabilize, he lets his amusement, pained and weary as it is, flood the shared network. _Looks like someone pissed off his Masters (One is female, I think. Two is definitely male)._

_Unit Three (Varric) is no threat (to you) (dumbass) to Zuì shēnkè de qǐshì (the Masters). Unit three belongs to Zuì shēnkè de qǐshì (the Masters). Unit Two (dumbass) will comply with mission parameters (get a grip!) or Unit Two (dumbass) will be serviced (brainwashed again)._ Unit one's thoughts come through loud and clear, now that Varric has the trick of decoding the lower level.

_He go off half-cocked and all stupid often?_ As he asks that, Varric desperately tries to figure out a better way to reroute incoming data. It can't go to his CPU implants directly or they might be able to slip in invasive programs that will access his cached memories or worse. But routing it to his brainstem was clearly not a healthy solution either.

_Unit two (dumbass) is subordinate to Unit one (my bitch) for reasons._

_You've been upgraded to Amusing Voice,_ Varric decides.

_You were merely first (interfering cunt),_ the other voice spits, distant and with a strange echoing delay as it bounces through Unit One first.

Another layer reveals itself, as Varric is able to decode a recurring packet, one that has thus far eluded him: a request for a secure key transfer protocol, a system in which they exchange keys without any third party being able to receive either key along the way.

_Unit two (dumbass) must require maintenance (did you forget? did they make you forget?). Unit one was chosen due to superior compatibility (you got me into this)._

Carefully keeping his idea behind the makeshift fire break he'd created (with his own body, no less), Varric comes up with a hundred and thirty one thousand, seventy two bit long encryption key and sends it back to Unit One. _You know, if you two need some privacy to work out your, ah, 'issues' I can come back later. Much, much later. Maybe sometime in late May of 2219 perhaps? Have to be in the afternoon, I'm busy most mornings and evenings are 'me time.'_

_Query: (what the fuck are you smoking) intended meaning has become corrupt (that's disgusting)._ Unit One doesn't use the back channel right away, but there's a message snuck into the next load of patches for him, shuffled in like a love letter stuck between bills: _[Are you alright?]_

_[Just peachy. I love getting blown up, kidnapped, drugged and tortured. It's keen!] Oh you know, it's just that Unit Two is in such clear need of some discipline and you seem like the kind of lady that has a firm hand._

_Accepted. Unit two (asshole) requires discipline (not anymore I don't). [Do you trust me?]_

_Unit One, restore my access to the target. You require assistance in this process._ Unit Two sounds impatient as he cuts back in.

_How does that work anyway? [Slightly further than I can currently throw you. Reminder, paralyzed at the moment.]_

_Request refused. No assistance required. [Just so long as you trust him less. Or have you forgotten what he did to you? Memory loss is sometimes a side effect of the procedure.]_

_[Gather he was the one that ordered my capture?] If you want, I can offer some ideas on punishments. I've heard good things about water boarding. Or inserting slivers of wild cherry wood just under the skin. It's mildly toxic you see, but very pretty._

_[More than once. Mine as well.] Initiating quarantine process. (You and I have a lot to discuss, Barty you ass)._

_Yes, data exchange is required (you're hiding something, I know it)._

Varric frowns, trying to figure out what that first comment meant. But despite the secret subchannel he has with Unit One, it's the shared Unit channel that has the more vital message. _(Barty?)_

_(You didn't recognize your own brother?)_ Unit One sends back.

_(what?) what? [what?]_

_(Did you forget me as well? After all this time? And here I thought I meant more than that. Guess I was a lousy kisser after all.)_

_Lousy— [Bianca?]_

_[In the flesh. So to speak.] Quaruintine initiated._ That's the last contact he has before he is abruptly, devastatingly alone with his thoughts.

* * *

**M Hawke** : A matter of some urgency has come to my attention. If you are not busy with work, I would appreciate your assistance, as a friend.  
 **Capt. Vallen** : I haven't taken lunch yet. Need to talk?  
 **M Hawke:** Talking is good. How about El Arrecife? I can be there in ten minutes.  
 **Cpt. Vallen** : Fifteen for me. Unless I need to change?  
 **M Hawke:** Not for lunch. Maybe after. We'll talk soon.

When she arrives at the restaurant, she's ushered to a table in the back, away from the other occupied tables; Malcolm isn't alone, as there's an elf with him clearly as his bodyguard, but he nods to her as she has a seat, leaning forward a bit.

"I ordered tapas, because I don't have much time. I'm being ushered into hiding. Varric's been taken by Templar."

_I am terribly glad I already set up anti-eavesdropping measures,_ Dale muses to himself. He looks rather different than the dapper and just shy of camp appearance he normally appears as at work. Instead, he's wearing black slacks and a charcoal grey superfine cotton shirt that's clearly cut for him personally. Specifically, it's cut to disguise the body armour and knives he's got tucked away. The cane in the crook of his arm looks a bit odd, but goes rather well with his outfit, and the heavy end of it might suggest it's simply a socially acceptable cudgel.

Aveline's eyes widen and she stills for a moment before finishing her movement to sit. "I— what? Varric is Shirén, why would— Garrett. They were aiming for Garrett, weren't they?"

"We're not certain. But given they took my son's bodyguard, as well, we can only assume that's the case. He ducked out of the trip the three of them were to take that day last minute."

"That is..." Aveline shakes her head slowly. "Start from the beginning," she orders, a snap of command entering her voice.

"We don't have all the facts yet," he cautions. "But the long and short of it is: Varric, Garrett, and the bodyguard were intended to inspect a warehouse this morning, but at the last minute, Garrett had to fill in for someone else at HQ. Someone placed a bomb in the vehicle, somehow without showing up on security cameras. When it went off, uniformed Templar arrived to carry off the wounded. We don't know where to, we only have parking garage footage, and that only briefly— the camera shorted out before they left the scene."

Aveline stares. "Bomb?" she asks very, very quietly. "Someone kidnapped two people with a _bomb_ and I'm hearing about it over lunch hours later?"

"So it seems," he says, his expression dark. "My son has been evacuated to a secure location. The twins and my wife have been instructed to bolt for the panic room if they spot so much as a sunburst. How fast can you mobilize the cavalry? I was hoping you knew about this, were already working on it... Give me hope, Vallen."

Vallen takes a slow breath. "You have video of Templar with clear icons?"

"Yes," the elf supplies. "Multiple copies have already been made, just in case. I have everything as of twenty-five minutes ago here," he adds, offering a small plastic case with a StoneSure logo on it. One of their secure containers; lined with a lyrium-lead alloy, artificial silk and copper mesh in a plastic shell, it's rated to protect memory storage devices inside from everything from a full ritual or a moderate EMP burst at point blank range. "They were in tactical gear, not armour. The primary camera systems were down before they entered, as well as the decoys. But the secondary system stayed up long enough to capture almost twenty-six seconds of them."

"Good," Aveline says, taking the case. "Given prior events, that's more than enough to get a warrant for the Templar's base."

"Can we help?" asks Mal, gently. "I'm no fighter," he adds, a touch of bitterness to his voice as he recalls the argument he had with Varric aboard his boat, "but we have a private security team from StoneSure that's at your disposal."

"Not for the search; the Templar legal department is powerful, any kind of edging the line can be enough for them to break a case," Vallen says, shaking her head. "Anyone else caught smuggling that much illegal lyrium would be midway through their conviction, but Stanndard just got exiled from the country. Not even offically, not yet, just 'politely' asked find a new assignment elsewhere. No. But if you can pressure the Viscount, make sure his spine stays at least cardboard stiff so he doesn't tie my hands..."

"That I can do," he says, with a nod. "If he hasn't already been influenced, I'll see if I can talk him into being busy this afternoon."

"That would be a big help," Aveline says with a smile. "Other than that..." She pauses, thinking. "You have a private helicopter, right? Would you be able to have that nearby, in case we need a medevac?"

"Absolutely," he confirms. "Just... if you find him, when you find him, can he be released into our custody? I'll have his personal doctor and mechanic on standby, he's very particular about who can treat him. If he's not conscious..."

"Absolutely," she says without hesitation. "Make sure they're on standby as well. I'll be honest, if you want to arrange for an entire medical team, that's your right as one of his two listed next-of-kin. Do you know who the other victim's proxies are? Family?"

Dale clears his throat. "Orphan, I'm afraid, as much as that label applies to an adult. Garrett is his primary, but as per his contract with StoneSure, we can make medical decisions for incidents occurring on the job, which this counts as. So."

"I'll pick up the necessary personnel and chopper them in," confirms Mal. "You just get him back for me."

Aveline sighs a little. "I'll do what I can. And thank you for bringing me in on this. I would rather like to know about kidnappings and bombs when they occur, not hours later, but I understand that you have reason to distrust... large, authoritarian organizations. So thank you."

"I texted you as soon as I found out," he admits. "I'm on my way to the safehouse now, actually. I was... out of the loop." Again.

Dale shrugs, expression unapologetic. "Our first concern was getting Garrett tucked away, then learning what we could as fast as we could. Informing others, not so important."

"You're lucky this wasn't a multi-prong, coordinated attack," scolds Malcolm.

"Not really; the twins are being watched and so were you," Dale says blandly. "Your house guest, the Rutherford girl, got picked up forty minutes ago and taken back home. By us," he adds quickly, seeing their expressions. "Sorry, phrased that badly. But everyone's in controlled territory, aside from the grandparents and the uncle. They're at home and he's..." Dale coughs. "In a very public place." _Mind you, not easy to get witness testimony from people at a stripclub, especially one of that, ah, level of sleeze._

"I find myself concerned at the growing evidence that Mister Tethras has a private army," Aveline says blandly.

"Well I find myself concerned at the growing evidence that the Templar have taken over Kirkwall entirely, so perhaps you can forgive an old man his paranoia."

* * *

_Bianca. Zhǔjī yī tái is Bianca. And Zhǔjī liǎng tái is fucking Bartrand of all people. Guess that explains where he vanished. Bianca blamed him for this... Did... did he offer her up to replace me? But why is he here too? Did he volunteer? Get in over his head? Bianca not enough? Bianca... why her? How? Bianca was my only real rival in the program. I was ahead of her in the rankings, but not by so much that she would need another person to equal me. Even if that person is Dumbass. Bartrand... Stone cracks, no wonder Unit Two hates me. Entirely mutual but— what the actual fuck! This is insane._ He tries to shake his head, wanting the familiar gesture to help focus his thoughts. But there's nothing. He can feel his body, distantly, the sensations so faded and muffled that the stream of data earlier had completely eclipsed it.

_I was always worried they'd hunt me down, need me back. But they took Bianca and then Bartrand instead. First anyway. Because I got out. I... I never really thought about them just taking someone else. I mean, I did, but not really. And Bianca... She deserves better. She was worth better. I barely recognize her voice. Her turn of phrase anyway. She sounds so... lifeless. Restricted. Caged._ A ghost of feeling, a cold tightness in his hands and feet glimmers around the edges of his mind. He ignores it, refusing to allow his mild claustrophobia to matter. _What did they do to her? What was done to her because I got out and never looked back? I knew that the program we were in was compromised. I could have sent word. Would it have made a difference? Would a warning have saved her?_

_This isn't— I know it's not my fault she was taken. But was it? Bartrand did it. Bartrand got himself involved in this, got me involved, got her involved. But if not for me, she wouldn't have— no, that's not helpful._ His stomach tightens, the only indication he has that time is passing as it hints, perhaps, that the paralytic is wearing off. Unless it only prevents voluntary muscle control. _I need to focus on— But how hard would it have been to send her a message? Mal could have done it easily. But I was too proud to ask for help. But I was too selfish to think of anyone else but me._

_Mal. Stone, this must be breaking him. First Marian, now this? And he barely opens up to me so who does he have left to talk to? Maybe Vallen but she's a cop, how much can he really trust her? Sure as fuck can't talk to the Bitch. Won't talk to his kids. Kids. G— he'll probably try to increase his dose again. Fuck. He's already taking more than he should. I understand why but still. I should have talked to him sooner about it. But again, too focused on myself. Bianca. Fuck. Was it just her ranking? Or did Bartrand offer her up because he knew we were friends? No-one knew about that kiss but us. But friends? That was known by most. Fuck. All my fault. No. No, it was Bartrand that— but I should have stopped him._

A cold, almost greasy feeling coats his throat. The drugs wouldn't matter in this case; the taste of shame is never really physical. _Just like I should have at least done something when they took Fenris. I couldn't have won but I could have at least done more than a few pithy probing statements. What must he have thought when I just let him be taken? He doesn't think like me. He would see it as a betrayal, as abandonment. Just like everyone else in his life but—_

The doctors watching over him exchange satisfied looks as they note that his heart rate has begun to climb, along with increased levels of stress chemicals in his blood. "Seems like the sensory deprivation is having the right effect. Eight hours, he's a tough bastard but Revelations come to us all eventually," the lead says, getting chuckles from the others.

_No. Mal. Stone, this must be killing him. First Marian, then this? Hopefully he opens up to someone. Maybe Vallen is better than I fear. Fuck, maybe he talks to his kids for once. Doubt it but that'd be nice. I should have pushed him harder sooner. Too damn selfish. Didn't even think of Bianca. I knew that the program was compromised. I should have sent word. Would it have made a difference? Would warning her have saved her? What am I doing with my life? Making the same mistakes, over and over again. Sometimes, it feels like the one good thing I've done is help Garr—_

"Oh my," the doctor says. "Increase his oxygen and start a mild sedative. Panic is good, a heart attack would be inconvenient."

_No. Nononono. I— Garrett. I left him. He needs me and I left him. First I failed Marian, now him. And Bianca. Mal. Even Fenris. Stone, Fenris. Garrett doesn't even have him. Just Mal. Fumbling, well-meaning but closed off Mal. All my fault. Not good enough. Not clever enough. Not decent enough to take care of them, any of them. All my fault. I... I just... I can't. I just can't._

_I just want it all to stop._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is missing. Varric is *missing*. *Varric* is *missing*. Marian's dead, Malcolm and Leandra are getting divorced, and Varric is missing. Worse: the *Templar* have him. Can things get any worse for Garrett?
> 
> Aveline swears she's going to get him back. But will she be in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: body horror, kidnapped loved ones, talk of suicide (brief), police violence

The cops set up shop around the outside of the Gallows, the old fort the settlers had built in Kirkwall when they first arrived to colonize the island, so named because it was the place they hanged the rebel slave generals when they rose up and revolted against their masters. The slaves had won that battle, freeing the island to join Haiti and Jamaica as the original Free Islands. Now, like the Spanish before them, the Templar seem to be overreaching, menacing the public they were sworn to protect. And yet again, there are defenders, common folk ready and willing to stop them.

Captain Vallen paces in the tent they put up, beside the little van Malcolm's forces had arrived in. Nearby, the chopper has landed, bringing the medical team Mal assembled; Garrett and Malcolm watch a series of monitors set into racks that slide out of the back of the van, keeping an eye on the body cams some of the police are wearing. Aveline pretends to not register that Varric has helped himself to the feeds.

The third and final warning has been delivered. The warrant is obtained. All they have to do is give them a few minutes to respond before they break out the siege equipment and bash in the door.

The fax machine in the tent roars to life.

_Who on earth is faxing me here, now?_ Aveline thinks in disbelief and no little annoyance. Scowling, she strides over to the fax machine and snatches up the letter waiting there. Then again, skimming that time. Finally, a third pass, slow and lingering, returning to certain phrases. The carefully banked bed of coals in her heart smolders more and more as she reads. By the time she finishes, her hands are trembling and her eyes have the faintly prismatic white glow of a templar channeling their arcane disruptive abilities. She takes a slow breath, then crumples the paper into a ball. Stares at it, then down at the fax machine.

"Ready the troops. We're moving in, now," she says quietly orders her lieutenants. _No. This will not pass. This will not be swept under the rug and put aside. No._ "Issue an order for an external communication blackout, all communication comes through me and me alone. I want no leaks or interference in this operation. Move!" Striding out of the tent, she heads for the path leading to the front door of the Gallows, flanked by her best team of Wardens. _This will be done right. Justice will be served, fairly and equitably and tempered with reason and mercy. Even if I have to do it myself._

"Yes, sir!" chirps Lowell, saluting before she heads to relay the order.

At the gate, the battering ram has yet to knock down the door before it is yanked open; a squad of templar stand in the front hall, flanking not the acting Knight-Commander but Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves, head of the Seekers of Truth. Of course; how could she have thought Knight-Captain Otto Alrik, a sniveling toady of a man, would be enough to fill the power vacuum left by Knight-Commander Meredith? Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves radiated the sort of presence Meredith had, eyes narrowing as he challenges her authority with every line of his being— including the crumpled paper in one hand.

"Captain Vallen," he says, narrowing his eyes further. "I was told you received the same update we did: the Templar are pardoned on all charges."

"No," Vallen says simply, face carved from bedrock. "You might have a piece of paper claiming such a thing but it's worthless. Best case for you, it's evidence of an appalling degree of corruption in the office of the Viscount. More likely, it's evidence of forgery or blackmail. Regardless, it's invalid." With a single gesture from her, the Wardens spread out, weapons at the ready. "Stand your men down, immediately."

Lord Seeker Lambert studies Aveline's face for a moment, a slow, cold grin spreading across his face. "So be it then."

* * *

"Seems like the Templar are resisting arrest," Leliana murmurs, not even flinching at the sound of automatic weapons fire. _And that was an anti-material round. Wonder if that was a Warden or if the Templar have been breaking gun laws as well?_ Casting the idle thought aside, she gives a nod to the only mage in the insertion team, the rest of whom are Varric's best black book team. Lead by Gerav, they're the same group that once helped capture Garrett so many months ago. At Leliana's indication that all their tech is in safe-mode and tucked behind silk, the mage murmurs softly and casts an illusion of normality and irrelevance on the group to ease their entry through the fort's old well system.

_Who knew that playing along the beach as a little girl would be so useful someday? I doubt more than a handful of people still alive know about this cave entrance. Whether the Templar still know— or care— that the long-dry well must empty out somewhere... well. That's what makes the job so very interesting, no?_ She takes one last glance at the sky, eyes drifting in the direction where Garrett is waiting, grieving, suffering. _I'll bring him back, my love. I swear it to you._

* * *

A day, an hour, a week; impossible to tell how long it's been. Impossible to know how long the silence has been unbroken, how long his thoughts have been churning in circles. Impossible to know how long he's been broken.

A message, encrypted, breaks the quarantine: _[Was kèhù jī 32: Unit Cole sufficient for mission parameters?]_

_—dose again. Fuck. He's already taking more than he should. I understand why but still. I should have pushed him harder sooner. Too damn selfish. Didn't even think of Bianca. I knew that the program was compromised. I know it's not my fault she was taken. But was it? Bartrand did it. First Marian, now this? All my fault. Not good enough. Not—_

_..._  
_..._  
_..._

_External data received? [Kèhù Jī 32: Unit Cole? I don't... ]_ A mental image flickers briefly, a young man with blonde hair and a guileless smile over shadowed eyes. _[Unknown. Final outcome uncertain. Define mission parameters for clarification.]_

The reply is slow in coming, but still encrypted: _[Were orders left with Unit Cole pending clarification of orders from superior control units?]_

In contrast, Varric's reply is nearly instantaneous. _[Yes.]_

_[Orders will be clarified.]_ That's all she sends; hardly a warm reunion, really.

_[Unable to comply; clarification might endanger assets.]_

_[Irrelevant. Unit Cole will proceed to the extraction point.]_

_[Explain.]_

_[No.]_

_[Why?]_

_[Unit Varric is... unstable.]_

_[And how did that occur?]_ Still toneless, still impersonal but with a cutting edge.

_[Politics. What else?]_

_[Irrelevant]_ is the terse reply. _[As is the status of 'Unit Three.']_

There's a long silence, then, and for a moment he has to wonder if he's done it, if he's chased her away. When she replies, it's almost a sinful sense of relief: _[If you say so. I won't pretend nothing's changed between us. But less has changed than you think.]_

_[I don't have much to indicate either way.]_ A pause, then, _[And you know I hate working with limited data.]_ It's not an apology for being curt, but Varric always was a rather prideful person.

_[Who do you think gave Cole counter-orders?]_ This he can almost hear in her voice, chiding him, teasing.

_[Reviewed data; Cole was the one that set the bomb, highest probability.]_

_[Things got out of hand. This was not my intent, and I shall see it corrected by the end of the day. But I will ask a favor, later, when you are more yourself]_

_[I'm as much myself as I expect to be for some time.]_ A digital snort. _['Out of hand?' Really? Still got that understated sense of humor I see.]_

_[It's a large favor,]_ she warns.

_[It always is. No promises, but I'll listen.]_ A sigh this time. _[If nothing else, I owe you that.]_

_[You owe me a lot more,]_ she replies, but a second message softens it: _[Only a little more than I owe you. Still. I wouldn't ask if I had anyone else to go to. It's going to be hard, but you're the only one who can do it.]_

The next message includes a set of coordinates, longitude and latitude.

A short pause later, _[Stored and encrypted but the cypher is stored externally.]_ Meaning he can't be forced to reveal the information but also that he won't be able to do anything with it unless he gets out. _[So what quest is the hero being given by the possibly evil, possibly damseled princess?]_

_[Rescue. I'm up against a deadline; I need to be evacuated to a hospital no later than ninety days from now.]_

_[Point to damsel.]_ A soft hum. _[Any more intel? Defenses, staffing, medical equipment?]_

_[I'll need to be sedated and taken to have an emergency medical procedure. I can be returned after that to keep them off your back; you'll be free to vanish again at that point. I don't have control over the forces in my physical location, to prevent escape attempts.]._

_[Ballpark? Why won't they do this procedure?]_

_[The procedure is contrary to their plans. Estimated forces include armed guards, turret sentries, automated cameras, and dogs.]_

_[You always did invite me to the best parties. Wait, no, or was it the opposite of that? Yeah, opposite. Terrible parties. With poetry and dancing.]_

_[Will you undergo this mission?]_

_[I will make the attempt if I deem it to have better than a five percent change of success. If nothing else, it sounds like it'll piss these fuckers off.]_

_[Please.]_ A pause. _[There's something you don't know, something important. Three percent.]_

A pause as well as the request is considered, a flicker of amusement at their bickering over a couple of percentage points about odds he'd be crunching and evaluating anyway. _[You do realize this is me, right? You're giving me months, that's enough time to assassinate the Divine. Either of them.]_

_[That's what I had hoped.]_

_[Then don't worry about it.]_

_[This is the most important thing I will ever ask of you, Varric Tethras. That's all I can say.]_

_[Understood. I... I do regret... a lot of things in my past.]_

_[The feeling is mutual.]_

* * *

_He's gone. They took him. He's gone._ At first, the light sedative Leliana had provided him was helping distract him, but now, watching the police try to break their way into the Gallows, Garrett can't help but dwell on it, on his pain.

His father is no help. The man stands behind him in the little tent, biting at his cuticles with anxiety, tension. Garrett slowly slides his face into his hands, shuddering, trying to get a grip. _Stop it, stop it, stop it. What will he think if he gets free and you're gone? Stop being so weak. Stop thinking about hurting yourself._

He jumps as a hand comes down on his shoulder, bending back to look up at his father's worried face. "I can't live without him," he whispers, his fear making him more honest than he'd meant to be.

"I know," says Mal, squeezing his son's shoulder. _And like hell I'll let you die too. No more death. Not again._

It's too much. Garrett breaks down in sobs, and Mal kneels, embracing him tightly. "I love you, son," he whispers. "I love you so damn much. We'll get him back. I know he'll hold out, to get back to you."

"Please," whispers Garrett. "Maker. Please."

In the corner, the blonde boy wipes a tear from his eye. Then he sits bolt upright, new orders trickling through his comms protocol. His eyes widen; he nods, though nobody can see him, and bolts from the tent. _Finally!_

* * *

"Is this part of the plan too?"

"Oh fuck an eel," Leliana (using the name Gale at the moment; Nightingale being a touch long to use in a firefight) snaps as she rolls back into cover, her personal cloak illusion broken after getting too closer to one of the Templar sharpshooters. "Can you redo your field?"

Chanter, known to Garrett as Dale, shakes his head. "Too much tech in the walls. Fuckers must have torn half the walls in the place open to add shit. So much for preserving historical landmarks. Assholes," he adds with honest disgust.

_Personally, I think having two recessed machine gun turrets outside your stockade is more annoying than failing to preserve some local history_. "Tinker, any bombs left? Tinker?"

"Dead," comes a curt reply from further back.

"Shit," she mutters, trying to peek around the corner. "Unless we can take them both out, we've no chance of taking that guard post. Chanter, cast your best veil on me, it might be enough to—" She breaks off as she sees first one, then the other machine gun deactivate in a shower of sparks. _The fuck? They're closed system, no wireless, barely any fucking electronics at all; how did they—_

There's a shout from the Templar at the guard post, then one of them throws a blessed silver and lead alloy knife at— "Where the fuck did he come from?" Chanter demands shrilly, then curses as Gale darts out of cover to grab the now badly bleeding blonde boy by the leg. She slumps back with him, one hand on pressed against the fresh gunshot wound on her thigh. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Room's open," Gerav says suddenly, prompting Chanter to order the wounded into the room. He's not sure what's in 'Prohibited Items Room B' but as long as it has enough room for their only field medic to patch Gale and the blonde kid up, he doesn't care.

"Sorry," gasps Cole. "Usually nobody can see me." He limps into the room behind Chanter, then jumps, startled by the sight of movement further in— causing his wound to bleed more. He stifles a whimper, biting his lip, and looks again: it's only a mirror, large and ornate.

Arm around Cole, half to help him, half to help her, Gale demands, "who are you? I saw you on the ship, you stabbed a Templar when he spotted the window we entered in was open. He would have called an alert if you hadn't stopped him."

"I'm called Cole, but you won't remember me. Don't feel bad. Nobody does. Except Varric."

"That's—" She hisses as they reach a box and she takes a seat. _Fuck, I think that's in the bone._ "Neat." Inhaling slowly, she asks, "you have any healing magic to go along with that?"

He shakes his head. "I am not a mage. I am designed for infiltration."

_Stealth so good it affects the mind? The fuck did Varric find this guy? Whatever._ "How did that Seeker spot you then?"

"Some people can. I am not certain how. With effort I can make them forget me, but—" he winces a bit. "Concentration is difficult. Making you remember me is the most I can do."

_It's stuck **on**? Maker, that must be Hell_. "Yes, well, gut wounds are distracting," she says with a weak laugh. "Where the fuck is Bones?" she snaps, looking around. _Why the fuck is he tending to Chowder? The two of us are far worse off!_ "Bones, get your ass over her," she growls at the medic, eyes narrowing when he ignores her. "Dammit Bones, Chanter and Rav are out there alone."

"Sorry," says Cole, wincing. "I'll let you—"

Who was she talking to?

Shaking her head to refocus, the redhead barks for Bones to get over to her before she bleeds out. Chowder, the graze on his temple smeared with a clotting agent, rushes out of the room to back up the other two just in time to be apart of the flashbang explosion in the hall. He stumbles back, cursing and rubbing his eyes. In the hall, the hail of gunfire doubles and Gerav shouts in pain. "Just plug it!" Leliana orders. _I'll deal with the pain, they need backup two minutes ago!_

The room fills with light: soft, white light, pouring from the mirror.

Then Marian Goddamn Amell walks out of the mirror and into their lives.

She looks too thin, like Garrett before he got off meth. Her clothing is torn, burned, crusted with blood, but there's no fresh wounds on her, no sign of recent injury. Her eyes are purple, inhumanly so. She walks with her head high, turning to look at the very wary Nightingale, than a space just to her right. "Wounded," she calls over her shoulder before turning back to the rogue. "Name and rank?"

_Oh, this place is boring and flat. What's wrong with it? He's neat though, the one with the gut wound. Tricksy._ Tantalizing Dreams hums softly, giving the impression of peering around excitedly.

The Iron Bull strides out of the mirror right on Marian's heels "Dammit Bahith, what the—" He cuts off, shotgun snapping up at Gale as he spots her aiming a submachine gun at Marian.

"When the fuck did the Qunari get teleporting mirrors?" The redhead demands a bit hysterically. "And why did you have to pick the same time _we_ picked to invade the Gallows?"

"I'm _talking_ to you! Blondie, redhead: name and rank? Who are you? Where are we?" snaps Marian, scowling. "The Gallows? Fuck. They're not going to be glad to see us. Bull, take captives and for the Maker's sake, get them some medical care."

'You can see me too?" Asks Cole. "Why? Garrett can't." He fades back into Gale's memory as he focuses harder.

"Don't judge me by my idiot brother," she snaps.

"Your—" Nightingale squints at her closely, her eyes widening. "Nice try, but Marian Amell _died_."

"Toed the line a few times but we managed to reel her back in," Bull says dryly as Merrill and Krem step through the mirror. "Why are you invading a Templar base?"

"Rescue mission," Gale says tersely, not wanting to admit anything more yet

"Rescue who? And again, who the fuck are you?" Marian scowls at the pair, holding up a hand. "You know what, nevermind, enjoy bleeding out, I am going home."

"Rescuing Varric," says Cole.

Marian stills, then, turning to study both of them. "...you say I'm dead?"

"You do not appear to be dead," confirms Cole, swallowing hard. "I might be, soon."

"According to—" There's another burst of gunfire that gets a yelp from Merrill and a flinch from the rogue. "Them, yes, you're dead. What does Varric call you and what was the first assignment you let Garrett copy in college?"

_She wants very much for you to be you and not us. Or something else? Definitely you being you. Sorry, it's harder to feel at a distance now._ Tanna apologizes. _And she wants to live, to save her friends. Which is only sensible really._ Love as well, Tanna notices, but that's a deeper want, and less urgent for Marian to notice so she doesn't bring it up.

"Umm, so should I heal them or..?" Merrill whispers to Marian, looking confused and tired.

Oddly enough, Marian's cheeks color at that, and she looks considerably more human, more like a girl in her twenties. "Neither are something you should know," she says, but she looks uncomfortable, rather than regal. "Oh, all right. Assistant Mar-mar, and I gave him my graded Calc homework." She doesn't answer Merrill, not yet anyway.

The redhead's eyes widen. "Varric and Garrett's bodyguard were kidnapped yesterday afternoon," she says crisply. "We're attempting to extract them. It's not going well," she admits.

_Varric? That's the adult you like, isn't it? The one you think is actually maybe smarter than you but you doubt it? What's calc?_ asks Tanna.

"Right," says Marian, nodding. _(A kind of math.) This is my fault too, isn't it? My responsibility._ "Merrill, heal them. Bull, make sure everyone gets out okay. I'm going to go kick some Templar ass."

As she says this, sparks play along her skin, as she relaxes her control just enough to gather more power.

"Right," Merrill says with relief, not having enjoyed being asked to just watch people be in pain. "Hi, I'm Merrill, I'll be your healer today. Do you mind if I take the healing cost?" she asks briskly as she hurries over. "I'm licensed," she adds at Leliana's arched look, electing to not mention it's only valid in Russia and the UK.

_I can't afford to be weakened right now_. "Fine. Out the door and to the right," Leliana adds to Marian. "Be careful, there are Templar and Seekers both in play out there."

Bull grins a little. "Templar, huh? Yay," he says cheerfully, eye already tinged with crimson battlelust. As he strides for the door, intending to stand in front of Marian, more people emerge from the mirror. And right after that, a few mabari and some—

"What the fuck are those?" Leliana demands, eyes bulging.

"Raptors. Merrill, you got enough juice for both of them?" Says Marian, already heading for the door to the room.

"After a week walking along the Ways Amidst the Fade?" Merrill snorts. "I could heal a dozen people right now twice as injured."

_We're fighting Templar? Like the beasts that helped Petrice? Ooooh, I have ideas for killing those! Silly things wear so much metal and you're better with skyfire than Pride is. What do you think of this..._ A flood of images, impressions and colors flows through their bond, a twist on applications of magic Marian already knows. And, amusingly, a bit of science.

"Great. I'll handle the Templar." Marian strides out the door, hand raised to begin casting.

Rolling his remaining eye, Bull cuts in front of her. "At least stay behind me for once?" he grumbles. "Krem! Secure the room, send Skinner and Dalish after us." He doesn't notice Leliana's slight twitch at the name but Krem does.

Finishing up with Leliana's wound, Merrill jumps a little. "Oh! Hello? Oh, you're hurt!" Eyes wide, she moves on to healing the cute blonde man next. "Nymeria, be careful, the bad men have guns," she calls after the mabari and her dino pack.

Krem kicks the door shut behind the group as they exit, pressing his back against it to listen for sounds of a retreat. It doesn't help much; guns are loud, as are the sounds of screams as people die violently, painfully. A good number of people, from the sound of it.

"Alright there?" he calls to Merrill, who nods in silent agreement. From the other side of the door, the final scream abruptly dies off, and all that can be heard is silence.

_Maker_ , he swears to himself. _I hope the Chief's alright._

A firm rap on the door; Krem opens it a crack, then throws it wide, admitting Skinner. The elf is spackled with blood, deep arterial spray, but it's hardly a new look for her; the surprise, bordering on awe, is new. "It's clear. Let's move."

"Already?" asks Krem, blinking.

"She's got some new spell. Crumples their armor into a little ball. With them still in it." Skinner grins. "Almost makes me wish I was a mage, yeah?"

"Yeah," says Krem, but his agreement is less hearty, more uneasy. _What has she become?_

* * *

Alone again. Always alone. Was Bianca ever real? Did he imagine this contact, this private message? Real or not, it's gone, as if it had never been. He is alone with his shame and his failure, his fears and his doubts.

And then, abruptly, it's gone. All gone. His eyes work once more, and he finds himself blinking up at an impossible sight: Marian Amell, covered in blood, her eyes a fae violet with lavender whites.

_Interesting approach. Didn't realize you could send such high fidelity video. Botched the..._ Varric's brow furrows. _This doesn't feel right. Did they disable my output? Why? Enforced passivity? My mouth is one of my best weapons true enough. I'll have to remodel my plans with this new restriction._ The dwarf stares at Marian, expression focused but blank.

"Uncle Varric? Are you alright?" Her voice doesn't sound quite right either— too passive, too subdued. "I did it, Varric. I killed them first. We're getting you out of here."

_That isn't right. Sounded wrong. Sound_. He blinks once, then thrice again more slowly. _Actual sound? Actual... visual? Real? Reported dead but Templar are both capable and motivated to lie in this regard. Probability low but plausible. Still, there's an obvious inaccuracy._ "Eyes," he rasps painfully.

"It was complicated," she admits. "Are you hurt? We're taking the catheter and the IV out now."

_Catheter?_ "Duration?" he croaks. _How long have I been a captive? How bad is the damage?_ "Status? Me."

She shrugs. "I don't know, I just got here. I'm not even sure what today is, I've been in the Fade. Uh, you're hooked up to a bunch of machines, so I hope none of this is important."

A large, one-eyed Qunari with a half broken horn appears behind Marian. "Yo Uncle Man. Looks like typical long-term care stuff. No idea what's in the IV though."

"Read. Bag."

Bull blinks, then shrugs. "Uh, sure?" He shifts over to the IV, then fumbles though the names listed there.

"Nutrients. Sedative."

"Great, rip it out, we need him on his feet and eating real food." Marian shakes her head. "The hell did you end up in a Templar stronghold anyway?" Her voice is wrong there, too, but in a more usual way: too casual, too calculated in how laid back and straightforward the question is.

"Bomb," Varric mumbles helpfully. "Revelations."

"Bet it was," Bull says wryly. "I can carry him easily enough but we still need to figure out how we're getting out of here."

"We walk out the front door and I kill everything with a flaming sword on it?" suggests Marian, tilting her head a bit in an oddly bird-like motion. "I'm not seeing the problem."

"Kill first, yes. Kill all, inefficient. Maimed use up resources. Dead invoke revenge."

"I thought he was the CEO of a shipping company," Bull says slowly. _That is some cold shit._

"Fair," she agrees. "Is there a back door?"

_Backdoor? Why are you thinking of Morrigan's hindquarters?_ wonders Tanna.

"Yes," the redhead from earlier says, slipping into the room. "Good to see you sir," she says quietly. "Fenris?"

"Moved off site, four to twelve hours in." Varric gasps softly as the jack is removed from the back of his neck.

"Great, we head out the back door." _Don't tell Merrill. Her butt is, sadly, lacking._ "How soon can he be movable?"

The human male's voice floats from further into the room: "Stitches?"

"Given context? Now. Need to get him to a healer fucking stat. Get a sheet, best not to touch his skin until we know what was done to him to cause that..." the man hesitates, swallowing. "Discoloration."

"Pre-existing. Stable. Safe."

"...right. Then yeah, if you want to carry him, we should get the fuck out now."

Leliana— Nightingale put away again, name and mask tucked away on a shelf to wait for another mission— shifts so she can see past Bull and her eyes widen. _Maker, is that why he never— I thought I had scars but this? What was done to him?_ "Put a sheet on him anyway," she says quietly, getting a nod and a grunt from Bull. Moments later, the dwarf is cradled against the massive Qunari, who nods at Marian to signal his readiness.

"Great. Let's go." Marian turns to lead the way without so much as a glance behind her, not even pausing to wipe the blood and tears off her face.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's just been rescued by none other than Marian Motherfucking Hawke Lesbian Amell, thought to be dead but instead bonded to a spirit. Now comes the awkward part: explaining all this to her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of suicide

Malcolm sees him first, on the monitors: three of the Guard are standing off to the side, and they spot the ragtag group as soon as they emerge from the side of the building. He lets out a low, pained cry, eyes fixed to the monitor.

"Is that...?" asks Garrett, lifting his head, struggling to see. _No. It can't be._

Mal can't move, can't breathe. Garrett tears out of the tent, racing toward the group full-speed, uncaring if he damages his knee, uncaring if he hurts any part of his body, so long as he can get to Varric that much faster, can see for himself if that's his— his—

As Garrett gets close, he sees that Varric seems to be unconscious as he's carried by the biggest qunari he's ever seen. Not that there are many qunari at all, much less non-converts, in Kirkwall for him to have met. Next to them is an willowly elf, hand glowing with mana as she studies the dwarf, being guided by— by— by his twin. She seems different, more different than just a few years apart could account for, but then again, she did come back from the grave so who knows?

Leliana is out in front of the group and grabs Garrett's arm before he can pass, strongly enough to force him to stop regardless of his wishes. "He's fine. Merrill put him under and she's healing any damage to his body," she says urgently.

"Is that—" he chokes out, his throat closing.

Marian gives a tired smile, one that doesn't quite look like her. "Hello, idiot," she says, raking a hand through her hair. "I see you're still getting in trouble without me."

He doesn't respond; he just closes the gap between them, shrugging off Leliana like her grip is nothing, and throws his arms around his twin, breaking into sobs on her shoulder. He's a little surprised at how tall she's gotten— _I must have forgotten how tall she was. And she's stronger. More muscular than before. She must have been working out. Maker. She's **alive**._

_Oooh, this is nice too,_ Tanna purrs. _Your nestmate gives good hugs. And he has such strong wants and dreams. Your love and respect, his mate's health and kisses, the horrors of his soul washed clean. Peace. A home, the acceptance of his family. You are more similar than I expected from your thoughts about him._

"Gary, we need to keep moving, it's not safe this close to the fort," Leliana says gently, rubbing the frozen skin of her hand gingerly.

They don't have much time before another figure comes jogging up behind Garrett: Malcolm. He looks over the crowd, his hand over his mouth, for only a moment before saying, "This way. I have a medical team on standby." _And I'm going to ask them to test her. I don't— I can't get my hopes up. Not yet. She could be a demon. She could be a trick. Dammit, Garret... don't get yourself hurt again._

* * *

Slamming his hands down on his desk, the Viscount presents the appearance of an imposing, charismatic and impassioned leader. "How dare you! You admit to my face that you blatantly ignored my edict and have the gall, the sheer, unmitigated _gall_ , to demand that _I_ explain myself?"

In counterpoint, Captain Aveline Vallen, widow of Wesley Vallen, and the most highly decorated member of the Kirkwall guard, police or military divisions, _is_ an imposing, charismatic and impassioned leader. And she is highly unimpressed by Viscount Marlowe Dumar, even more than she normally is. "Yes, I do," she says simply, leaning in slightly to take unconscious advantage of her seven inch height advantage over the five foot nine politician. "Your so called pardon is bullshit and a blatantly illegal edict worth less than a blank sheet of paper would have been."

Malcolm Hawke Amell, CEO of Amell Inc, the highest grossing company in Kirkwall, singlehandedly responsible for 35% of Kirkwall's GDP, crosses his arms as well, scowling at the Viscount. _He's not getting out of this so easily._

"That is not a call that you were free to make, _Captain_ Vallen," the Viscount snaps back, neck flushed. "You invaded the Templar's embassy and killed nearly a hundred of them! Sixteen guards are dead and triple that seriously wounded! This is the bloodiest, costliest engagement in the last century! And you did it against my orders!"

Pain and grief shadows Aveline's eyes at the viscious reminder. But not a hint of regret or shame can be found. "Just because something has a heavy price, doesn't mean not doing it is cheaper. No one is above the law. Not the Templar, not you, not anyone. They kidnapped two citizens of our city and you were going to just _let it go_. "

"They _murdered_ my _daughter_ ," says Malcolm, his voice low, intense, deadly serious.

"Your daughter died in a blizzard," the Viscount says, a thin smile forming. "As attested by your parents-in-law."

"The Templar carried out an illegal Rite of Anullment!" Vallen thunders.

Viscount Dumar waves that off. "That was afterwards— the Templar put down a known blood mage and some foreign witch that killed her own mother, not anyone respectable."

Malcolm takes a step forward, his lips thinning as he presses them together. "Her _name_. Was _Morrigan. Korcari_. You would do well to remember the names of each and every one of the victims you failed to protect. I will ensure that you do, one way or another."

"Is that a threat, Mister Amell?" Dumar demands, rising to his feet. At the door, the two personal security members straighten to attention. "Given your recent actions, it would not be out of place to move to protect myself from you."

"Oh yes, I'm sure you're very frightened of my ability to use a photocopier," he says, narrowing his eyes. "I will write those names where you're sure to see them, every day, for the rest of your term here. Which will likely be short, after I announce the new Amell headquarters in Tevinter."

"So harassment then. And please, spare yourself the shame of pretending you have any kind of control over the company you work for. The Amells would never leave their lands behind, nor would they break faith with me. The Colonel and I served together and still met for drinks every couple of weeks. One of my biggest supporters in fact." He smiles thinly. "Captain Vallen, if you would be so kind, I would like to press charges."

"For what? An expressed intent of a non-violent nature?" She snorts. "His lawyer would have a counter-suit in place within ten minutes." Aveline pauses, looking thoughtful. "Actually, nevermind. Mister Amell, sorry to waste an hour of your time, but would you be so kind as to consider yourself under arrest when we're done here?"

"Oh, no," he deadpans, his tone sarcastically flat. "What ever will I do. I have made a horrible mistake."

The Viscount reddens more, furious by their blatant disrespect. "Captain Vallen, I am surprised," he says in a far too quiet and collected voice. "Given your reputation, I would have thought you above such actions, but clearly I overestimated your dedication. Or perhaps underestimated your ambition." Her eyes narrow, not liking where this is going but he continues before she decides to cut him off. "A lesser whore would have sold herself for far less than—"

Aveline doesn't say a word, she simply steps to the edge of the desk, hands at her sides. Despite this, all six guards in the room draw their weapons and point them at her and the Viscount's words halt abruptly as the man recoils in fear.

"Don't think you have room to talk about whores, personally," says Mal.

Vallen's back is rigid with repressed violence as she continues to bore her gaze into the Viscount. He swallows repeatedly, that fact that Aveline is not just a paper-pusher but a true warrior, one able to wield powers of an entirely different nature but just as deadly as most magic. "If you ever imply such a thing about my character again, I will declare juris ferrum as is my right as Captain and kill you or your champion without hesitation. Do you understand?" she asks, voice as cold as the blade she wears.

The Viscount nods, throat convulsing slightly. "N-Never— Nevertheless, it is clear that you have overstepped your bounds," he says, voice shaking at first but steadying with more speed than most would credit him with. "As such, I am relieving you of your command."

"You can't," Aveline says simply. "I've already started an investigation into your conduct. You can't dismiss a Captain while under investigation."

He looks flustered, then furious. "You can't do that," he snaps. "You are the one that disobeyed a legal order first!"

Malcolm leaves them to bicker; he turns instead to the door, to the two security staff there. He speaks quietly, but passion bleeds into his voice anyway. "Well, boys, it seems we are at an impasse. In one corner is your boss: a power-hungry, easily-bribed dictator that nobody but us nobles really likes, judging by his approval rating. Not that he cares. He follows the money, every time. And the Catholic Church of Andraste? Has a _lot_ of money. He's been negligent in his duties; civilians have died on his watch, murdered in cold blood, and more have been straight-up taken. Anyone could manifest powers, after all— anyone's little girl could be my little girl, a scientist at heart.

"And in the other corner is Captain Vallen. One of the few guards I respect, ironically more because she keeps me on my toes than anything else. She believes in holding everyone accountable. The rules apply to everyone, isn't that what she's always saying? And she's standing here before you saying the Viscount is corrupt. That she wants the rules to apply to him, too.

"So what's it gonna be, boys? When he orders you to arrest her, to take her badge and her gun, will you obey? Who do you serve? Him? Or the people of Kirkwall?"

The two guards don't say a word, don't even look at Malcolm, but they do hear. One's jaw tightens and he shifts, just a little. The other's left thumb brushes along the inside of his hand, where an eleven style wedding ring sits. Just as Malcolm is finishing have a quiet word or ten with the fourth member of the six guards, Viscount Dumar reaches his limit. "Enough! I will not tolerate being spoken to in this way in my own office! I am the Viscount of Kirkwall and it is my _right_ to have you suspended for suspicion of treason on the spot! Guards, arrest her at—"

With a single smooth motion, Aveline draws her longsword, which promptly bursts into incandescent flames. She hadn't brought her shield, so she instead pulls her gun with her other hand. "That order is unlawful. You cannot do that while under investigation. I will resist this coup attempt with lethal force," she says quietly. The guards, well trained, all step forward instantly but then freeze. The two near the door exchange a glance, looking very uneasy. One of the others Malcolm spoke to half lowers his gun, clearly wavering, and so does one of the two he didn't speak too. The other two however, look entirely willing to do this.

"Vallen," he says quietly. "We should go."

_We should go? We. Mal. Fuck. I might be able to take them but not with a civilian to protect._ Aveline takes a slow breath. "You'd die first," she warns the Viscount softly, a grim smile forming as she sees the understanding bloom in his eyes. Nodding, the guard Captain slowly backs away with her gun still at the ready. "This isn't over but now isn't the time. Amell, get the door. We're leaving."

Mal breathes a faint sigh of relief as he opens the door for Vallen. "Pleasure doing business with you," he sasses the Viscount on the way out.

* * *

Garrett paces in the hospital room, trying to keep calm as the sedatives wear off. He hates this; waiting while Mr Li works on Varric's implants is almost worse than waiting while he's in surgery, because he can see the whole operation, hear every faint curse and spy every change in facial expression Mr Li undergoes. He doesn't know what to think about his sister coming back from the dead; he can't bring himself to be suspicious the way his father is, but she's being given a full checkup and blood tests, and he's been kicked out of that room until she's cleared. So he paces, waiting for—

"All set. Bringing him back online."

Garrett's head snaps around to stare at Varric, at the sheet draped over him, at his too-slack face. Waiting.

Thought returns in an uneven flow, the slow and steady awakening that such a severe trial and subsequent total system check deserves disrupted when Varric's organic mind wakes enough for memory to return. His implants still booting carefully, his lack of vision, sluggishness of thought and general weakness all combine to bring the horror of quarantine roaring to the front of his mind. He makes a low keening noise without intending to, without even realizing he can.

Garrett is at his side in an instant, grabbing for his hand, holding it tightly. "Varric?" he asks quietly, trying to keep his voice even. "Are you alright?"

The dwarf's body stiffens sharply for a half dozen rapid heart beats, then his hand grips back. A few seconds more and his body relaxes just as suddenly as it had tensed. "Ueaah." A pause. "Ess. Yes." Another pause. "Alive anyway." His voice is thick, slightly slurred, but there's the faintest hint of humor in the final words.

"Maker," Garrett whispers, pressing his forehead to the back of Varric's hand. "I thought I lost you. I'm so glad. I'm so— Maker." He presses a kiss to the inside of Varric's wrist, turning the hand to reach, then lays another a little further up. "Maker," he breathes again.

"No sex for at least forty-eight hours," Mister Li says absently as he packs up his things. "Try to avoid any real exertion or shocks to his system."

"Fine," he says, his voice a little weak. "I might want a nap anyway."

"Naps are good," Varric murmurs, eyes forced up despite the discomfort the light is causing. "You look unwell."

"Unwell's a word," he says, with a bitter laugh.

"Of course it is, I wouldn't have used something that isn't," Varric says with a slight frown.

Garrett stares at him a minute, struggling to comprehend what he means. "Are you... okay?" he asks, frowning.

Varric pauses for a long moment. "I'm... functional," he finally replies. "Recovering. Can't expect more than that for now."

_He was tortured_. The understanding comes over Garrett, causing him to shudder; he takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Varric," he begins, his voice serious as he finally lets himself broach the topic on his mind: "What happened to Fen?"

"He was moved to a separate location about two to six hours into our imprisonment," Varric says softly. "I don't know where. Just heard them mention something about a surgeon."

Garrett lets out a low whimper, the breath rushing out of him as though he's been punched. "Fen," he whispers. "What did they _want_ with him? With you? Neither of you are mages."

"Allied with Revelations," the dwarf says as gently as he can.

Garrett stares at him, stomach twisting. "Surgery," he says, and he bows his head, struggling not to vomit. _That chip Fen had me cut out. Fen. Maker, please, no._

Varric is quiet a moment. "I might have a lead on where they took him," he offers slowly.

"Send it to Leliana," he says, shuddering. "I'm no use to you right now."

"I will," Varric promises. "You're my highest priority. Talk to me. Shagua."

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "I let them take you. I should have been there, I could have Barriered, could have—"

"There wasn't enough warning," Varric says instantly, such calculations long since made. "It just would have damaged you as well."

"You've seen how fast I can barrier, can heal," he points out. "I could have stopped this. But I wasn't there to try. I got complacent."

"Wasn't your fault," Varric repeats firmly. "You were doing your job."

_It is. But I don't want to talk about it anymore._ Abruptly, he changes the subject: "Did you see her?"

A slow blink. "Leliana? Yes, of course. How much— how _little_ sleep have you gotten? Food?"

"Neither. But I meant— I meant _her_. Marian."

"You've not eaten at all?" Varric says, frown deeping. "Order food. Now."

"I'm fine," he says, automatically. "Varric... it's _Marian_. She's... she's really..."

"No. Order food first. I won't discuss any more until you've eaten some," Varric says, closing his eyes.

Garrett stares at him, silent for a moment. Finally, he pulls out his phone, gets to his feet, and heads for the door. He pauses, looking back at Varric, and says softly, "I'm glad you're safe."

Then he leaves.

* * *

One of the downsides of being admitted to the hospital late at night is that you're pretty much guaranteed to stay overnight, even if there's nothing really wrong with you. So it isn't until the next morning that Mal gets the results of the blood test: Marian is his daughter, no mistaking that.

His response is instant: he offers the Chargers one of the beachfront properties the Amell corporation keeps on hand to loan to executives who are travelling in for conferences and big meetings. The Iron Bull, Dagna, Morrigan, Merrill, Marian, and the remaining Chargers take their animals and gear there as soon as they're cleared to be released, intending to set up Merrill's mirror in the backyard so Fluffy and Lysas can come through since the former wouldn't fit in the hallways at the Gallows and the latter refused to after being told there was combat on the other side.

Marian drops the suitcase of Merrill's things onto the bed in the downstairs bedroom, Bull right behind her. When she turns to head back out to the car, however, she finds him blocking her way, with Merrill beside him. "What's up?"

"Need to chat," Bull says cheerfully, moving into the room without hesitation. Following behind him like a duckling is Dagna. Unlike the horned giant, the dwarf has a worried frown in place.

"Um, alright. Can it wait?" Marian asks, glancing at Dagna's face with a frown.

"Could. Won't," he answers brightly.

"Marian, do you realize you killed like forty people last night?" Dagna blurts out, clearly not able to wait any more. Or use anything close to subtlety.

Marian hesitates, looking from Bull's face to Dagna's, then back. "Well... yeah. Templar. And?"

"Marian?" Merrill waits until her girlfriend looks over at her before reaching up to cup her cheek. "Do you remember how you felt when you had to kill the abomination made from Drass? You were sick. You almost went into shock."

Marian frowns, studying Merrill's face. "I... suppose. But things have changed since then. Lots of things. I— I was just doing what everyone keeps pushing me to do. Kill them first, right? Don't let them just hurt my friends. What's so wrong about that?"

"Because sometimes you need to grieve for doing the right thing," Bull says somberly. "I've been a merc for nearly sixty years," he offers. "I still feel regret when I have to kill people. Maybe not for them dying but for having to drip a little more blood on my soul."

"My soul is drenched in blood," she says, frowning. "What's a little more? It won't hurt me. It's useful. I used some of it to power my spells, so I didn't tire so quickly."

Bull stares. "Metaphorical blood. It's standing in for sin or guilt or some shit."

_Merrill is becoming almost terrified and swamped with guilt,_ Tanna observes suddenly. _She's worried and wishes she could take back what she did to you? To change you? What change? Oh. Oooooh. Oh Love, I have wronged you..._ Marian's head swims, her vision going fuzzy and dull. After a second, it seems to go away; not because things sharpen and grow more detailed again but because her brain remembers that this is normal, that humans shouldn't be able to see such incredible detail or notice the difference shades of color so easily.

And that's the easiest shift for the mage. A feeling of power, of long-earned confidence that borders on arrogance and an instinct to ignore anything that gets in the way of discovery, of exploration and novelty fades. None of it vanishes, not anywhere close, but it pulls back to something similar to how she felt before they went through the mirror for the first time.

Marian stares at the group, almost dumbfounded, then slowly reaches up to rub at her temple. "I was.... dreaming?" she says, slowly. "No, I was.. This was... what...?"

"You pushed yourself so hard in the Fade to keep us safe, to get us home. I guess you didn't really leave it when we did either," Merrill says quietly. "Your eyes were getting more purple. And your lips were starting to be shiny. Just a hint but..."

"I— I killed—" she breathes, slowly sinking down onto the bed. "Maker."

"You did," Dagna says, voice tight. "Did— did you really not... care before now? At all?"

She shakes her head, and a flash of anger hits her. "I told you!" she hisses. "I told you I'm a monster. You didn't believe me. None of you took me seriously. But I— You should never have let my family see me."

_It was my fault. Tell her. Explain that it was my fault. I didn't mean to, but it was my fault. I was so happy to be whole once again, I clung too tightly while we were in the /proper plane of existence/ and it hurt you._ The spirit sounds miserable and guilt ridden, far, far more than she did about the Templars' deaths.

"You're not a monster," Merrill snaps, glaring at Dagna. "You're different. Bonding changes you, we knew that. We just need to figure out how so we can help you guide those changes safely. In the ways you're willing to accept."

"She did something to me," whispers Marian. "In the Fade. I— she said, clung too tightly. I don't know what that..."

"Spirits aren't human. They aren't evil, not like demons, but they're not human. How much guilt would you feel if you had killed forty giant spiders that were trying to kill you?" Merrill sits next to Marian, reaching for her hand. "You can't trust her morality to guide you. Morrigan— her book, her studies— suggest that you have to be her guide in that way. The spirit is a mentor in matters of magic, history or what have you, but you must be the guide of morality for she has none, neither good nor evil."

"That... sounds pretty dangerous. Rewarding, but dangerous," Bull says carefully. "Especially given that said spirit is, you know, in her head."

"I warned you," says Marian, something broken in her voice as she folds her hands in her lap, refusing the simple comfort either of them offer.

"Yeah, you did. What's your point?" Dagna asks bluntly. "You keep saying that and it doesn't actually mean anything anymore."

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," she says, more bluntly. "I told you. I'm a monster."

"Please," Dagna says with a scoff. "Bull's killed more than you by at _least_ an order of magnitude. So have I, indirectly anyway. I'm sure you must have noticed the curiously blank parts of my work file? Weapons research. Merrill's a blood mage. I don't care that you killed forty Templar that wanted to kill us and evidently also tortured your uncle and brother. Fuck'em and use the corpses for science. I was worried because you didn't seem to feel anything about it."

Marian lifts her gaze, then, shocked, staring at Dagna. "I—" she begins, but her throat closes up. "I can't promise it won't happen again. More and more, as time goes on. That's what I'm worried about— not being human anymore, not feeling things, not having human morality. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm open to being tempted like nobody else here. You can't just..."

_Actually, you aren't. Like everyone else, I mean. There's not a demon alive that can take you from me,_ Tanna offers timidly. _You could corrupt me, maybe, though it's much, much, much harder after we've bonded like this, but you're utterly safe from possession by others._

"Which is what this," Merrill gestures around, "is about. If you start to waver, we'll pull you back. It doesn't matter if that's being callous about other's lives... or your own."

_I didn't say possession,_ Marian replies silently. _I said temptation. You're capable of tempting me to do great evil._

_Oh_. Tanna shrinks back again, the faint impression of great thought trickling to the mage.

After a moment, Merrill clear her throat. "Marian?" she prods her.

"I'm sorry," she says, swallowing. "I missed what you said."

"Oh. I guess it's hard to keep track of two conversations at once," the elf muses, then shakes her head. "Right. I just said that that was why we're here. Right now, I mean, pull you back if you start being evil. Or suicidal." She winces. "I was less blunt the first time, sorry."

"I don't think you have to worry about that last bit," she says, with an uneasy chuckle.

"Then maybe you should _start_ worrying," Bull says curtly.

Marian flinches a bit, looking up at him. "...what?"

"Working backwards: attacking a fort full of highly trained mage-killers by yourself, a last stand against a zombie dragon even though we could just leave, throwing yourself into a pool full of drugs and poison, charging at a complete unknown that just one-shot someone else without any kind of plan or attempt to get help, trying to stick your hand into that same pool despite knowing it's toxic..." Bull rattles these off without pause, giving her a flinty look as he does so. "And that's just the last week or so of our little trip. One or maybe even two by themselves? Eh. All of it combined with other comments and hints you've made? If you're not outright trying to kill yourself then you at least don't care if you die."

Tears well up in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall, refuses to give into them. "I— I wouldn't say I'm suicidal, just.. as you said. It doesn't matter so much."

_If you die, I die with you_ , Tanna whispers. Despite the fear, Marian is able to sense that the spirit is more worried about Marian than herself.

_I know. That's why I jumped in the pool in the first place._ She wouldn't have finished the sentence if she had been speaking aloud, but she can't quite cut the thought off midway through.

Tanna sends a feeling of almost approving acceptance. _I already knew that. I'm glad about it; I don't like the person who I was then. I don't want to be that person again and I'm really, really afraid I would be if you died. Or worse than that person._

"Wait, I thought you just said you'd die?" says Marian aloud, having honestly forgotten there's other people in the room.

"Sorry?" Bull asks, confused. "Can you like... raise a hand or something when she talks? Or... this is confusing."

_Can I have some /will that changes the world/ for a bit? Just enough for a small barrier or a decent magelight?_ When Marian collects and pushes the mana towards Tanna, the spirit replies with a pulse of gratitude. A moment later, a small spark of dim light begins to hover over Marian's forehead, just far enough away that the human can see it. "Hello everyone!" The spark spins in place rapidly as the words are emitted, then stills afterwards.

"That is _so_ cool! How is she doing that? Is it actual sound or illusion?" Dagna demands.

"Well. My life has gotten so damn weird," muses Bull.

"Hello Tanna!" chirps Merrill.

"I'm sorry, can we go back to the part where you tell me if a demon gets unleashed upon the world when I die?!"

Based on the other three people's expressions, they all rather agree about that topic needing discussion. "Spirits are concepts. If the concept changes, the spirit is now no longer what they are. Spirits can't change by themselves though, just like a concept can't evolve by itself. But mortals can change us. I became what I was when I met you because Aeloamskaveyrin died, out of a need for companionship. I do not know which shard of emotion of yours would warp me into a new demon but I know it would occur."

Marian takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I need to go back to the Fade," she says, after a moment.

"What? Why, that made shit worse," Bull protests.

"I can't be here, what if someone shoots me?!"

"It would have to be a _very_ large bullet," Tanna replies. "And very sneaky, or we could block it. Or redirect it."

"...large?" Merrill asks curiously, understanding the part about sneaky.

"If she's not killed, I can fix it, eventually" Tanna explains simply.

"Bullets are pretty deadly, you know," says Marian, her voice tight.

The spark produces a very credible sigh. "So I am learning. I could probably alter your body to be even more robust than we've already done. But at current, I have high hopes that you would survive being shot by the guns those Templar used. At least one or two bullets at a time."

"Sorry, what? What did you change?" Dagna asks eagerly. "She doesn't look that difference and her weight has changed by any noticeable amount."

"Umm. One moment." _I don't know the words and I'm afraid to try and search for them right now. I made your bones be a little bit more like dragon bones. Very strong but still very light._ Surface level details shift through their link as Tanna explains.

"...my bones. She changed my bones. Made them hollow, but... they're not made of carbon anymore."

"We changed," Tanna corrects Marian. "When we bonded. I guided it but your desires guided me. It's all compatible though! It should even bred true. Mostly? That part's trickier. Bloodlines are _hard_."

Dagna reaches over to take Marian's hand with an intense look in her eyes. "Marian... may I do science on you?"

"Dagna, timing," Merrill growls. "Marian, take a deep breath for me? Tanna, can you play some relaxing music for us? Something soft?" The spark wavers, then begins to emit a complex melody of chimes, thrums and low purrs.

Marian takes a deep breath, then another. "You said my eyes were purple. Before. They're not. They're brown. Aren't they?"

Dagna blinks. _Her eyes were brown? Huh_. "Umm, no, they're pale purple on the whites and like a dark purple where color would go?"

She takes another deep breath, then another. _I'm a demon. It's like a demon. I'm not human anymore (shut up you knew that) I'm a monster (stop it)_

_We're **not** a demon! Stop saying that!_ Tanna nearly begs. _I don't want to be the thing you think of for that word!_

Another deep breath. _I'm sorry. You're right. You're a spirit. I just— you can't change me without talking to me anymore. I don't want... inside or outside, mind or body. It freaks me out._

_Okay,_ Tanna sends back in a tiny voice. _Ummm. Should I— that is— I'm currently sorta keeping you alive but it's sort of an ongoing change?_ Feeling Marian's agitation, she quickly explains, _you were burning so much energy in the Fade to keep them all of our friends together and alive so I've been feeding you my energy from what you call the Fade and I think you'd probably go into shock and die if I stopped before you eat and sleep a few more times?_

Marian pales. "I'm... apparently... dying."

"You're not dying! You just need to eat and sleep!" Tanna protests.

"You said I'd go into shock and die that's a little more than being _hungry_!"

"Tanna, explain," Merrill snaps.

"Doing what she did in the Fade to get you all home took more than her body could produce so I fed her some of my energy to keep her going and she's still behind in recovering so I can't stop yet but she said to not change her without asking and adding things is a change so—"

"Marian, relax. Tanna, just ask her to let you keep giving energy until it's safe. Are there any side effects to her getting energy from you like this?"

"Umm. If it went on for weeks, it could make it so her body gets so used it she stops feeling hungry or tired even when I stop?"

_How long were we in the Fade? It felt like a while, I can't figure out..._ She lets the thought go, shaking her head. "So we need to stop and see if I collapse. Or. I guess I should eat something first. I can order Dwarven on my credit card, let Daddy pay for it?"

"I got it covered." Bull says. "I'll just add it to Uncle Dude's tab." He pauses a moment, frowning. "He was serious about that, right?"

_We were in the Fade place for longer than I was in Petrice but shorter than I was alone_ , Tanna offers helpfully. So between half a week and sixty-five million years. Nails it down pretty well.

"Probably. But let me. It's fine." She gives a weak smile. "If we're done here, anyway?"

"I'm still worried about the you not caring about dying, even if you now have kind of a reverse hostage thing going on," Merrill replies.

"I'm sure I'll be fine once I've eaten and slept," she disagrees.

Merrill stares at her, expression one of doubt. "Are you trying to say that your lack of, umm, wanting to live is just because you need a snack and nap?" she demands.

"I... well, I mean... it's not... I'm sure I'll feel more myself, more human, when I've taken care of biology instead of being pumped full of Fade juice so..."

But it rings hollow, even to her. After all, most of the aforementioned incidents had happened well before her merger with Tanna, and some of them even while fed and rested— though few, since she wasn't eating well after the Templar left. She tries again: "I mean... I made it home. I didn't ever think I would. Maybe it just takes some time to sink in."

"That's... not entirely unreasonable," Dagna allows, shrugging a little. "I mean, that sort of thing doesn't just go away, but, uh, being home and not with Templar and all does seem like it would help."

"Still. Can you promise to keep talking to me? If you keep having those thoughts?" Merrill reaches over to rest a hand on Marian's knee. "I care about you and I want more than you just _surviving_."

Marian bows her head, momentarily overcome. "You're too good," she murmurs. "I don't deserve you. Alright. I'll try."

"You deserve all of them," Tanna disagrees. "And me. You have a good family, I like them." Absently— and thankfully privately— Tanna wonders how soon they can get to making a nest and thus laying eggs. She misses having children.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric has been rescued from Revelations and their Templar accomplices. But Fenris was left behind, to suffer an unknown fate. On the other hand, Marian's back, alive, safe and sound, despite some clear changes to her form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: trauma recovery

Garrett lays in Varric's bed, staring at the ceiling, marking the hours. _I could have any bed in the house,_ he realizes, and the thought doesn't make him feel any better. He ruffles Barkspawn's ears idly, wondering if he should even bother going back to sleep. Barky isn't enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Not tonight, not with Fen still missing and him doing nothing to stop it.

_It's almost 7. I wonder if Leliana is up._ He reaches for his phone, tapping out a quick text message, asking her to call him when she gets up. _I should shower. Or something._

He doesn't bother.

Instead of a ring from his phone, Garrett gets a tap on the door. Without much pause, the door then opens to reveal Leliana in sweats and a tank top, hair still loose and feet still bare. "Hey," she says softly as she approaches the bed.

"Hey," he replies, just as soft, his voice a bit raspy. "Did Varric contact you? About Fen?"

Taking a seat on the edge, she nods. "He informed me that Fenris was taken and had his intel sent over. From what I can tell, it's unrelated. At least, I can't see how it relates; the distance is too far for him to have been sent there already."

_Unrelated._ His shoulders sag. "So then... then we need to figure out where he is, and fast. It's been almost twenty hours, he must be—"

"We're trying," she assures him. "We have people searching the Templar base for any leads and we've managed to, ah, borrow the use of a satellite to try and look over the nearby islands. But they've got a good head start on us."

"We have to find him. Varric heard something about surgery, he might be..."

"I know," she replies gently, taking his hand. "I know. We won't stop looking, I promise. But... Garrett, you have to start preparing yourself."

"No," he says immediately. "I won't lose him. Not like this."

"For it to take longer than you're hoping," Leliana finishes, softing her initial stance. _Slowly then._

"If we don't get him back today he's as good as— Maker," he whispers. "There was a chip we cut out of him, when we stole him. I'm afraid they're putting it back in. That they'll..."

Squeezing his hand, Leliana asks quietly, "that they'll..? What chip?"

"He told me it... let them control him. His nervous system."

Leliana pales slightly. "Oh. That sounds... horrific." She breathes in slowly. "I will... be sure to brief anyone that goes in on that. So they... are prepared that he might be hostile and to take EMPs and tasers, just in case."

Garrett nods, his throat closing. "Why?" he breathes. "Why does this keep happening? Why has the Maker forsaken us?"

_Like father like son evidently_. "I don't know," she says simply. "I often wonder if He's dying, or at least badly hurt. That our ancestors' arrogance almost destroyed the world and He broke Himself to save us. And now we must go on alone, unwatched and unaided."

Garrett nods, looking down at his lap. "Maybe the Templar tortured Him too," he says bitterly.

Leliana laughs sharply. "I decided long, long ago that the Maker would have wept to see what mortals have done in the name of Him and His Bride. And then killed them all, like as not."

"I think I agree with you." He takes a deep breath, then adds, "if we don't get Fen back, I might pay a visit to the Black City myself, see if I can talk him into taking a peek."

"Do not joke about that," Leliana snaps, face paling. She digs her nails into his hand, eyes hard. "Do. _Not_. Do you understand me?"

His smile falters, his eyes slide off hers. "I— I didn't mean—" he begins, but he stops, unsure of his own intentions. _Didn't I?_

"Have you been taking your meds?" Leliana demands suddenly.

"I... might have missed last night," he admits.

Leliana rises to her feet and moves to the nightstand. A minute later, she hands him his pills and some water from the bathroom. "Garett, you can't afford to miss doses. _Especially_ when things are bad."

"It doesn't matter," he says, his voice flat, as the numbness settles back in. He swallows his pill dry before continuing: "since Marian, the pills aren't helping as much." He takes a deep breath, swallowing some water. "She's alive," he reminds himself. "I spoke with her last night. She's... changed. But she's alive."

"Yes, I recall," Leliana says wryly, shaking her head as she makes a note to mention that to Garrett's therapist. _'Changed' seems almost dishonest in its underselling of the matter._ "She gave me quite the start when she stepped out of that mirror."

"She was always... aloof. Distant. It's how she deals with trauma. Whatever happened to her, it must have been bad."

"They all had a lot of fresh wounds," Leliana agrees. "The Qunari's eye, Bull or something I think, looks very recent despite what must have been magical healing. But Marian looked... unhurt at least."

"Taller— a few inches taller. And her eyes were wrong. She's... something _happened_. Something magic." He shivers. "She felt like Anders. Her skin, her... aura."

"Like... a spirit healer?" Leliana hazards. "I've never heard of that causing that sort of change before but I don't know much about spirit healers."

"I didn't know Anders before he was indwelt," Garrett admits. "But Justice taking over changed his eyes."

That gives Leliana some pause. "Were there any other signs?" she asks warily.

"Toward the end, he glowed. It was like he was full of blue light, and it poured out of every place it could: his fingernails, his skin, his eyes, his mouth. And his voice was..."

"Well, she wasn't glowing," Leliana offers him. "And she sounded like a person. Very fed-up and a bit..." She clears her throat. "Well, bitchy, but she's had a long couple of weeks."

"So maybe she's only indwelt, not possessed. Or maybe something else happened. I don't know, and I don't— I doubt she'll tell me. She'll probably want to leave Kirkwall soon."

Leliana cups his cheek. "Tell you what— let's go get a shower and something to eat and then we'll find out where your dad stashed her. It'd be good to talk to her, right? She's back, Garrett. Your sister isn't dead. I know there's so much else happening it's hard to focus on any one thing but... your twin is alive."

He takes a deep breath, then another, resting his head on her hand. "I— yes. Maker. I can't even wrap my head around it. Everything's gone strange, I don't— I just want to sleep. Can we sleep, some? Will you stay here with me? Usually Varric— but you saved me too. Maybe the nightmares won't come if you're here."

_Oh Maker Garrett, how are you so—_ "Yes," she says tenderly, gesturing at him to scoot back. "We can nap for a bit first."

Garrett curls up next to her, resting his head on her shoulder; when his silent tears dampen her tank top, neither of them say anything about it, letting him pretend it's not happening. Slowly, he drifts off to sleep, fear and pain easing at her familiar, comforting scent, her even breathing.

This time, he gets some actual rest.

* * *

Malcolm slides out from behind the wheel of his Audi, almost regretful to leave the car. _It still handles like a dream_ , he sighs, closing the door gently.

When he turns to appraise the yard, he almost wonders if he's really dreaming. _Is that... a triceratops? Eating grass in the side yard?_

Shaking his head, he moves to the front door, rapping on it firmly. _Almost eleven AM. Plenty enough time for them to settle in._

The door opens to reveal a set of abs and pecs made out of smooth, polished grey marble dusted with silky black hair that only thickens into a patch at the waistband of a pair of tight jeans. "We order more food?" a deep voice calls. "Nevermind, ain't no-one delivering in a car that sweet. That the A3?"

"Sure is," he purrs, staring openly. "Rides nice and smooth."

The beefcake lets out a low rumble of laughter. "Now, now, I might not have had a mama to raise me to not be a fool, but I still know not to get in the car with strangers. Even if they are a bit of eye candy."

"What if I offered a lollipop?" he asks, before he can catch himself.

"As much as I like a good _sucker_..." Bull says with honest regret, "I do think I need to get a name."

He holds out a hand to shake. "Malcolm Hawke Amell. I came to check on my daughter."

"You're her dad?" The man's eyes narrow a bit but the smile stays in place as he takes the hand. "Althawr Alhadidiu, but westerners butcher that so call me The Iron Bull. "

By contrast, Mal's eyes widen as he shakes the Qunari's hand. "You're Bull? I'm honored, truly honored to meet you. It seems you saved my daughter's life."

"She's a good kid. No, she's a damn fine woman. Brilliant, sure, but she's got steel under those brains and guts too."

Malcolm nods, releasing Bull's hand. "I'm glad to hear it. And doubly glad to hear she's safe. May I come in?"

He purses his lips, then nods as he steps back. "Yeah, but I'm going to call Pyro in to make sure you're you. Still a bit on edge," he adds, though there's no apology in his tone.

"Pyro?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he enters. "I can understand your concern. I'm happy to undergo whatever tests are necessary."

"Professor Janar. I nickname people, seems only fair," Bull explains, leading him to the overly formal dining room. Nicely decorated, yes, but a bit much for a beach house. "She'll be just a minute," he adds, putting his phone back in his pants. "How Uncle Dude doing?"

_Uncle Dude?_ A smile plays across Malcolm's lips. "He'll be heading home this afternoon. Should be good as new; his engineer signed off on his implants being clean, but he wants to run one more deep scan just to be safe."

"Good to hear," Bull says with a grin. "Only talked to him the once, but he seemed an alright guy. And I wouldn't leave... well, I guess my worst enemies of late _are_ Templar, so I guess I would leave my worst enemy in the care of Templar. Damn, that just ruins the whole saying."

"No, no, I understand you entirely," says Malcolm, quickly. "I was in the Circle when I was a boy."

"Fair enough." Bull shrugs his shoulders a bit. "Won't deny that magic is scary shit and an evil mage is a fucking horror show but I never really got why people think the best way to stop that shit from happening is to treat them like shit. Magic or no magic, you hurt a man enough and he'll either shatter or snap."

"I can't really speak on the matter," he admits. "What happened? If I might ask. She was... unclear as to what had transpired when she called her uncle."

Bull exhales slowly. "Alright, where to fucking start?" he mutters.

Before he can decide, there's footsteps behind them. In the doorway, Dagna studies Malcolm for a moment, then sniffs coldly. "Hello, Sperm Donor."

Malcolm's eyebrows shoot up, but he swallows, nods. "Good morning. How's Marian?"

"Why are you asking?" Dagna asks, face blank.

"Because I'm concerned. Garrett was—" Here he has to pause, take a breath, clear his throat to try and ease the cracking from his voice. "My son was quite distressed after his brush with the Templar. I am concerned about my daughter."

"Haven't shown much cause of that before," Dagna says, leaning against the doorframe. "When was the last time you spoke with Marian? Saw her in person?"

"If she doesn't wish to see me, say so, and I'll leave," he says, his voice cooling. "I have always respected her wishes."

"I wasn't asking to shame you," Dagna replies, then pauses, wrinkles her nose. "Well, mostly not. She's not doing great. If this is just about looking good or some sense of obligation, send a card. She can't handle having to deal with that right now."

Malcolm covers his face with one hand briefly, taking a deep breath as he nods. "I don't mind," he says quietly. "She's alive. We were told she had— we were told the Rite of Annulment had been performed. If she needs to fall apart, if she hates me, if she wants to hit me or sob on my shoulder, I don't care. She's here to do those things."

"Good answer," Bull rumbles. "This him, Pyro?"

She sighs. "Yeah, seems like. Looks right, voice is right. Mage and not a spirit or demon, best I can detect," she adds, showing a camera in her hand. "Fuck if I know how the camera works or why it's still doing the thing but he's the right degree of, uh, groan, _faded_. So yeah."

Mal lowers his hand, staring at them. "...Right," he says, after a moment, apparently deciding to accept this information. "What happened? I haven't gotten a straight answer yet."

"Well... did you ever find out what were we there to study?" Dagna asks slowly.

Bull snorts. "He might have a guess or two, given Fluffy is out in the side yard."

"I read everything I could get my hands on," he confirms, not mentioning it was after the announcement, when he couldn't sleep. "You went to study a disturbance in the Fade, on Deception Island, along with both Drs Korcari and Dr Sabrae."

"Disruption in the Fade is accurate but misleading. It was a pocket of frozen time. From sixty-five million years ago. That giant ass lizard eating your shrubbery— sorry about that, I guess— is an real life dinosaur from a time period so long ago even the elves' civilization is just a speck," Dagna says with a grin.

"He's named Fluffy and he's just a toddler evidently. Fucker's gonna triple in size," Bull adds, shaking his head.

Malcolm shakes his head, sounding awed. "I always knew she'd be a wonder. My little girl brought home a _dinosaur_."

Bull mumbles something under his breath. Something about 'not saw' or something?

"Yeah, it was incredible, even more than you imagine. But, uh, so there were evidently spirits trapped in there too and most of them turned into demons over the ages or whatever. One of them jumped into a Templar that was supposed to be watching over Marian and Daisy," Dagna says with a wince. "They... handled it, but that was just the start. Evidently another one got into my other grad student, Clemence and... Fuck, I didn't even realize Tranquil could get possessed by demons."

Malcolm stills. "They can," he says, after a moment, his voice perfectly even.

"That was a reaction," Bull notes in a bright and perky voice.

"I don't like to think of— of what the Templar do to us, but I've done some small research in the area. Tranquil are not immune to possession by spirits, they are simply... distasteful. But, please, continue."

"That's pretty neat. Maybe I could see your notes at some point? Anyway," Dagna says, clearly not seeing the tension there. "Anyway, the demon killed a few more people, jumped bodies and the Templar lost their shit and tried to kill us all. Bull convinced them that they'd die first, so they just fucking left us to die in the blizzard instead. Which was, admittedly, sort of our fault. The blizzard, not them being dicks."

"They _left_ you. In a _blizzard_." His voice is a low growl, but he pauses, takes a few deep breaths. "I am... displeased to hear this. How did you come to be in their stronghold?"

Bull and Dagna exchange glances. "...through the Fade," Bull says slowly. "Can't say more than that, sorry. You'll have to get it from the coven. Sorry, that's your daughter, Daisy and Wilds."

"He means your daughter, Doctor Sabrae and Korcari, the younger anyway. Flemeth Kocari was killed by the demon," Dagna clarifies.

"Did the demon also kill Sister Patrice Roberts?"

"Petrice," Dagna corrects him. "And... ish? The demon possessed the bitch so... yes?"

"So this demon possessed Sister Petrice, killed several people, and then my daughter slew it?"

"Petrice is dead, yes," Bull confirms.

"That's not what I'm asking," he clarifies. "Is my daughter a killer? Will I have to protect her from the law? If Petrice was possessed at the time, there's an easy case in our favor, assuming you'll testify to that effect. If one of you killed her..."

"Technically the demon killed her," Dagna says slowly. "I could testify to that with complete honesty."

"The bigger problem is the forty odd Templar she took out in the Gallows," Bull points out.

"Forty—!" He takes a deep breath. "I can't say I'm too broken up about it, but yes, that will be a problem."

"In fairness, they shot first so... self defense?" Bull offers.

"...I'll keep that in mind."

"Wait, actually... how..." Bull pauses as he searches for the right wording here. "Bear in mind that English isn't my first language, so if I misspeak, blame that. But how flexible are you on the finer points of pretty bureaucratic regulations?"

"For Marian? Exceedingly." He glances at Dagna, but addresses his next to Bull anyway: "Please understand that I would do anything for my children. Anything. I would prefer things that don't cost me my friendship with Captain Vallen or the Viscount, but just yesterday I threatened him for their sake, so we'll see."

"Huh. Where the hell has that been before now?" Dagna demands, hands on her hips. Bull closes his mouth, letting the dwarf have her say first.

"Marian asked for space. So I gave it to her. Her fight is with her mother, not with myself. I have never disapproved of her, not once."

"...did you _approve_ of her?"

"Of course." He slips his hand into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet; he flips it open, showing a picture of the all four children, quite young, then flips over the insert to show a carefully folded bit of paper. "She wrote me a poem for father's day in middle school."

Dagna purses her lips, then sighs. "Okay, that's pretty adorable," she caves.

"Awwww." Bull's croon comes from over Mal's shoulder, where the qunari warrior is sporting a goofy grin. "She's missing her front tooth and everything!"

Mal smiles at the picture. "It's good, I think. Marian needs someone who will be protective. I'd love to introduce you to my wife."

"How much?" Bull asks, tone shifting to brisk and professional. "We charge higher for domestic jobs but given you're Bahith's family, I'd be happy to offer a friend discount."

Malcolm snorts. "Good one. No, I'm not in _that_ market, not just yet. More the lawyerly market."

"Ah. Killing lawyers is free."

He laughs this time, caught off guard. "You're alright," he admits.

"You're pretty fine yourself," Bull says with a grin back. "Anyway, my idea. We post-date some paperwork, make Bahith a Charger. We're a paramilitary group, all official like. Uncle Dude made a verbal contract with me, if he can attest to that, then it becomes a sanctioned rescue mission. Sorta. It'd help anyway."

"You were already on one— get my daughter home and he promised you quite a lot of money. I've seen the transcript of that call." His smile fades as he recalls it. "If your rescue mission took you through the Gallows, I'm not sure you need anything else to take them down. They were definitely trying to kill her."

"Sure, but she can't really claim to have been rescuing herself. Or, well, I guess she could but it doesn't sell as well," Bull replies.

"I suppose. I'll talk it over with the lawyer. Regardless. What does she need from me? I intend to ask her myself but... sometimes it's hard to ask for what you need."

"Right now, quiet and a large food budget. Maybe some clothes and other stuff like that?" Dagna shrugs a little. "She's passed super the fuck out right now. Not injured or anything," she adds quickly. "Just overdid it getting us all home."

"Won't hurt anything if you just want to check in on her," Bull offers.

"I do," he says quietly. "Her card has a ten grand limit. If that's not enough, let me know, I can have it raised."

"Uh. That's a lot of take-out and dresses," Bull says with a cough. "Right, follow me."

Bull leads him to the back of the house, to the master suite; not the choice Mal would expected for his daughter. Bull holds up a finger to his lips, winks at Mal, then opens the door slowly and steps out of the way. The room inside is dimly light by daylight streaming around the closed curtains, which is just enough to see Marian's sleeping face. She's curled up on the bed, nestled in the lap of a long haired elf woman, who is holding a staff in one hand and stroking Marian's arm with the other. And also staring at Mal warily, at least until she notices Bull waving at her over his head. Also watching Mal is a large white furred mabari and a half dozen thin, scaly chickens with wing claws.

Mal glances at the raptors, but only briefly; his attention is taken up by his daughter, and as he watches her sleep, watches her chest rise up and down, a smile spreads across his face. He looks younger in that instant; his smile is pure love, adoration, as he watches her. He doesn't seem the least bit bothered by her choice of guardian, not in this instant.

"That's Daisy," Bull whispers soft as he can. "Sweet as honey, mind like the wind and loyal as a mabari." He nods at the elf, then closes the door. "They seem good for each other, at least as far as this old bull can tell such things."

"I'm glad," Mal says gently. "I wouldn't suggest bringing her home to meet Lea, but I'm glad they have each other."

Bull scratches at his recently broken horn. "Yeah, good plan on that. Daisy would probably only take three, _maybe_ four, cuts against Bahith before she teleported the offending personage into the ground. Not at the ground, into the ground."

Mal winces. "Then perhaps three or four minutes is the outside limit on her interaction with Marian's mother. Or grandparents."

"Rough crowd," Bull notes as he leads Mal to the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Beer? Heh. Pretty sure I'm offering you your own stuff. Oh, anyone else I should be sure to keep away from Daisy?" _Who else is a threat to the girls?_

"A cup of coffee sounds fine," he agrees. "I don't know if she still has friends in Kirkwall, being gone for so long, but myself, her siblings, and Varric only want the best for her. As you might have surmised, I'm not entirely heterosexual myself."

"Got a hint or two there, but I can sometimes get false positives," Bull says with a smirk, muscles flexing just a little more than might be needed to make coffee.

"I'll bet," Mal replies, leaning against the fridge to admire the view. "I suppose you _must_ be taken."

"Just by the job," Bull says easily. "My Chargers and charges. Sugar? Cream?"

"Two sugars, a dollop of cream. Thanks." He smiles. "I'm shocked. A magnificent man like yourself, honorable and talented as well as sculpted— surely you could have anyone you wanted."

Bull smirks a bit as he finishes making them both coffee and heads back to the table. "Says the wizard of AmellTech," the warrior replies blandly, a smirk in his eyes if not his tone or lips. He looks Mal over thoughtfully. "Been a bit I gather?"

"You have _no_ idea," he confesses. "I should probably mention my wife and I have a recent understanding. She knows I'm no longer staying faithful. But thus far I've been so long out of the game, I've struck out every time."

"Bet that's a long and painful story," Bull says with a wince. "Why no luck? You have a good... let's go with profile and your game isn't bad at all."

"I'm too well known around the city. I don't want someone who is looking for blackmail material, or someone looking to ride my fame rather than my... assets." He shrugs. "A couple guys just weren't interested."

"Ah. No worries about blackmail material with me, given what I already know about your personal business and I know I give a strong 'don't give a shit' vibe in regards to the dignity of the rich and famous. Cost us more than a few referrals and repeat jobs with working for celebs or the like," Bull admits with a grin. "You're a bit nerdy for my normal but I liked your fire earlier."

"Nerdy?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't been called nerdy since the seventh grade."

Chuckling, Bull takes a sip of his coffee. "Oh yeah, definitely nerdy. Not nearly as much as Pyro sure but I can totally picture you skipping meals to read a book or do math."

"I haven't done that in years," he laughs. "These days it's all business all the time."

"Sounds boring as shit. No wonder you ain't been laid recently." Bull says sadly. "We should hit a club sometime next week."

"I'd like that," he says, with a small, genuine smile as he sips his coffee. _Now that things are looking up for once._

* * *

_Accessing house network..._  
_Passcodes have been rotated (insufficient to prevent access)._  
_Access granted._  
_Security system disabled._  
_Sweeping for personnel (locate primary)._  
_Accessing data logs._  
_Primary located (Garrett)._

Garrett and Leliana are just finishing an early lunch when Varric enters the kitchen without any warning. The dwarf glances at the empty plate in Garrett's hand and nods slightly. _He's eaten. Conversation ban lifted._ "How're you doing?" he asks, tone friendly but just a little distant.

_Security system reengaged._  
_Skin around eyes suggest recent crying._  
_Hair damp, clothing clean (Leliana as well)._  
_Sixteen high priority alerts from StoneSure._  
_Primary shocked by Zhǔjī sān's arrival._  
_Downloading alerts One through Five for analysis._

"I'm fine," says Garrett, raking a hand through his hair. "You're home. Why didn't you call, I would have come get you?"

_Alerts Two and Five expired, discard._  
_Primary upset, attempting to suppress._

"Didn't see a need to bother you," Varric replies with a shrug. "You're still recovering yourself so I just had a driver get me." He frowns at Garrett, stepping closer. "How are you doing really?"

_Didn't want to **bother** him? Varric, pushing him away is not how you help Garrett,_ Leliana thinks to herself as she tries to unobtrusively finish cleaning up after breakfast.

"Didn't—" Garret takes a deep breath, then another. "I'm _fine_. How are you doing? I know we had a bit of a... thing, last night," he admits. "I'm sorry, I needed to see my twin, and get some sleep. But you're home now. Talk to me."

_Primary attempting to bury feelings._  
_Alerts One and Three cleared._  
_Accessing GPS records for primary._

"You don't look fine," Varric replies bluntly. "And don't worry about last night. Neither of us are performing at peak, some friction is to be expected."

"I'm more worried about—" Garrett cuts himself off, shoots a worried glance to the room's other occupant. "Lels. Would you give us a minute?"

"...of course," Leliana says after a second's hesitation. "I'll just go check my emails."

Garrett thanks her, waiting for her to depart before turning back to Varric. He asks, in a low, quiet voice, "Do you want a hug? Or would that make you feel crowded? Did you sleep any?"

_Primary is seeking to comfort Zhǔjī sān (Primary is often soothed by giving assistance)._  
_Alert Five unable to resolve at current time (sending request for additional information)._  
_Downloading Alerts Six through Ten._

"A hug would be fine," Varric replies in a matching tone. "I did sleep. Food was also obtained."

Garrett frowns, clearly unhappy with that answer. "How much sleep did you get?"

_Accessing internal clock._

"Seven hours, forty-eight minutes."

Garrett stares at Varric, at a loss for words. Finally, a hint of anger slipping into his voice, he manages, "I can't help you if you don't open up to me, dammit. What's _wrong_?"

_Alerts Six and Seven resolved._  
_Primary displeased by answers._  
_Primary requests additional information (directive [protect Garrett] conflict)._

"I was tortured, Garrett," Varric says carefully. "I'm processing that. I need time."

Garrett flinches, standing up from the table. "Fine. Call me when you want to talk." That said he grabs his keys from the counter, heading for the front door.

"Not alone," Varric says instantly. "You're upset with me, fine, but take Leliana with you."

" _I'm_ upset with— no. You need someone to talk to and I don't know what I did wrong, but you won't talk to me, so you get to deal with her." He doesn't look back, doesn't stop walking.

_Analyzing Primary's response (need something to talk to)._  
_Alert Eight resolved._  
_Alert Nine pending (requesting more information)._  
_Conclusion: Primary is in error. Zhǔjī sān functionality progressing._

"I've locked the garage, it won't allow access for you without Leliana present," Varric calls back. _Possible compromise created._ "I'll make an appointment with my therapist as soon as I can. I'm not upset with you."

Garrett whirls, just on the other side of the doorway to the living room. "Fuck you," he says, his voice cold. "I'm not your prisoner, Varric. Let me the hell go."

_Social engagement error, analyze._  
_Alert Five resolved after situation update._  
_Conclusion: actions too similar to parental oversight._

"I'm sorry, shagua," Varric says tiredly. "I just— I can't lose you. Can't let you—"

_System errors forming._  
_Suppressing errors._

"Please. I need for you to be safe."

Garrett's face softens, and he takes a step back toward Varric. "I don't know what's going on inside your head," he says quietly. "But there's a lot of places I could be right now. If you don't want my help, I can't sit here and brood."

_Alert Ten resolved._  
_Social analysis updated (Primary requires emotional intimacy)._  
_Errors suppressed._

"I don't expect you to. I need time before I can discuss anything. I'm sorry. Go visit your sister. Tell her I said 'welcome home.' But please take Leliana, so I can know you're not alone."

"I won't be alone. I'll have Marian," he says, with a small smile. It's not his real smile; then again, things have been so stressful, and he's clearly tired, clearly overwrought. It's a good enough facsimile of his reassuring smile, anyway.

_Social analysis: Primary is resistant to proposal._  
_Alerts Elven through Fifteen downloaded._  
_Possible rift between Primary and Leliana (concerning, emotional support required for Primary)._

"Why don't you want Leliana along? Are you two not okay?"

"Because I don't want to explain to Mother who she is." He sighs. "And I don't want you here alone."

_Alert Fifteen resolved._  
_Alert Nine resolved after situation update._

"I'll call Gerav after contacting my therapist. Or maybe Mal. Tell your mother Leliana is a bodyguard."

"Why are you so adamant she come with me? I told you, I'm fine." Something about that suggestion seems to have hit him, as he flinches away, looking toward the front door.

_Social analysis: extend trust._

"Because I can't be. I trust very few people and Leliana is the only one I trust that can take care of you right now."

That seems to deflate him; he swallows, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. I'll get her," he says quietly. "She can drive."

"Thank you shagua," Varric says softly, that slight remoteness that's been in his voice this whole time fading for that single sentence.

"I love you," he says in response. "I hope you feel more yourself soon." Then he's off to the study, to find Leliana and hand her the keys to his hated Jeep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric isn't doing well after his imprisonment. He's chased Garrett back into the arms of his family, pushing him away and refusing to let him help. Thankfully, he's brought Leliana with him to meet his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: family drama

Garrett is quiet as they drive; he jokes about going up the mountain instead, but he's not serious, and so he's quiet as they head for the Amell-Hawke Estate. As they arrive and park, he sighs, leaning back against the seat.

"This is going to suck," he warns. "You know how to do the bodyguard bit?"

"It's not my typical assignment, but yes," she replies, giving him a long, sideways look. "I could be something else if you prefer. Friend from work, secretary, or what have you. Mobility assistant? You could play up your knee."

"Depends. You staying the night?" he asks, looking out at the driveway they're parked in.

"I would prefer to do so, yes," she says in a low voice. "But I can sneak into your room easily enough. I can Stealth."

He raises an eyebrow. "Huh. I didn't know you took up Ninjitsu on top of your other talents. Not bad. Alright, then. I won't say no, given last night."

"I didn't bring anything to change into however," she admits. "I wasn't expecting this to be an overnight trip." _Or for you to leave Varric's side for anything short of a death in the family._

"If you don't mind the boyfriend t-shirt look," he jokes. "I have a lot of old band shirts that are a bit snug on me. And I bet you'd fit into Beth's pants."

Leliana snorts. "If it's snug on you, I'm going to be completely indecent in them," she says dryly. _Having space in the shoulders is all well and good but I have more than shoulders to fit in a shirt._ "But I could probably wear Beth's clothes if she has something that's not tight on her. I'm a bit taller but our builds are close."

"Or you can pop home, I mean, you're not really my bodyguard. Or assistant or whatnot."

"I can have something couriered over," she says dismissively. "I was mostly trying to be gentle about trying to ask what's going on. Why are we suddenly spending the night here?"

He glances out the window on his side, chewing his lip. "Varric's... I think he's unhappy with me."

Leliana winces. "He has been acting..." She frets at a hangnail absently. "Detached. Too calm. Not just with you though, with everyone I've seen him interact with. Was he any better today than he was in the hospital?"

"No," he says quietly. "Anders used to get this way, when Fen was needling him too bad. A step back. Like he's considering if he wants to be with me, if I'm too much of a handful. I used to try and make him laugh, make him remember why he likes me. But Varric's not like that. He values his privacy, his space. So I figured I'd give him some."

Leliana narrows her eyes. "That is... possible," she allows. "He has gone through a lot of trauma lately. You want comfort, want to be with people when you're hurting. I need to exert myself: sparring, sex, running, or yard work. But Varric is, as you say, a very private person. I am not surprised that he needs to isolate himself for a time afterwards. As long as it does not go on too long... perhaps it is not a problem."

"Yeah," he sighs. "And Marian will need me. She's been through... I can't even imagine. So, we're here for her." He doesn't mention Fen, how he'll need him but won't want to seem like it. How he'll bristle and snarl and make it seem like an imposition, only to calm noticeably when Garrett insists on staying. Almost like a test: does he really _mean_ it, or did he only offer out of politeness?

"She will, I'm sure," Leliana agrees, reaching over to take his hand. "I have to admit I'm looking forward to meeting her." She hesitates, then admits, "all of your siblings. And... also nervous about doing so."

"It's weird, realizing you haven't met them," he admits. "I'm too used to Varric. He's been close to my father since we were all small."

Leliana nods a little. "I am... envious of that, sometimes. How much more into your life he can be, despite us both having to be private." Feeling guilty at admitting that here and now of all times, she offers a weak smile. "I understand and I accept it, just..."

"...you could be my new girlfriend," he says, quietly. "Mother doesn't know about Varric. Beth does, but she'd understand why I'd have a beard around Mother."

_Yes._ The word almost burns on her tongue. "I... am unsure." She takes a slow breath. "That is such an enticing role, I might not be able to give it up," she adds in an attempted joke.

Garrett is quiet a moment. "Varric asked me, when we almost... I mentioned being with you would be simpler. He asked if I wanted that. If I was done with him, if I'd be happier with you. I... if I wanted sweet and simple and perfect, I'd have said yes in a heartbeat. But I'm a fuck-up, Lels. I think only another fuck-up could really understand me. And... and even if that's not true, it broke my heart to think of him all alone again. So I said no. I said, only if you're okay with sharing. And I'm not sure he's... I'm not sure he really is okay with it, but he's willing to try, for me."

Leliana snorts a little. "Oh delicto, as much as I hate to make you think less of me, I am not without my own scars and damage," she says with a hollow laugh. "I care for you, I want us, but I can't just be pretend. I won't try and take you from Varric. The two of you are soulmates, the kind of love that makes my faith in Andraste glow just a little brighter. I can be happy with less than that. But I need more than just... sex and friendship." She exhales sharply. "This is not the conversation I meant to have today. Or anytime soon." _Or ever, coward that I am._

Again, Garrett is quiet, mulling this over. "Before I met you, I had two... relationships, I guess. We didn't define either one. Well, gay men don't so easily, you know. We're not like women, that way. But. Anders was my rock, the one who saw my potential and helped me become more than I am. And Fen was my charge, my—" His voice cracks, and he wipes at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't— I can't talk about him right now. I can't— I just meant to say that—"

"Shhhh. Shhhh," Leliana croons, slipping out of her seat and into his lap. "It's okay. I understood. I— I care for you, Garrett. We don't have to label it. We don't have to, umm, to talk around it right now, it's okay. I understand. Kiss me?"

He plants a quick kiss on her lips, then one on her forehead. "What I meant is... you're important to me," he says quietly, his voice husky. "Everyone I've ever loved is important to me, in different ways. Everyone means something different. You're not Varric to me, you're Lels, and that's... that's important too."

_Men indeed_. "That's enough. That's wonderfully enough," she whispers, smiling at him.

He bends to kiss her again, but jumps as a knock comes on the window. He glances up only to meet his father's skeptical eyes, his forced smile. "...Hi dad."

"Oh goody, this is how I always wanted to met my boyfriend's dad," Leliana mutters in Spanish to herself. "So... girlfriend explanation to those not in the know?" she adds to Garrett, reaching for the door handle.

"Son," says Mal, then he frowns at Leliana. "...I don't believe I caught your name last time we met," he adds, holding out a hand to shake. "You work for my friend Varric, right?"

_Subtle_ , thinks Garrett with a wince.

"Juanita in the day to day, Nita to my friends," she replies, taking the hand. "And yes, I work for Varric, who is aware of this," she replies, not naming what 'this' is explicitly. "He wants time alone at the moment, so I'm keeping Gary company for now."

Mal turns his skeptical gaze to Garrett. "You prefer Gary?"

"Ah, no, it's a work thing— I got my nametag made up to read Gary Hawk, so people didn't think I was, umm, you know, nepotism and stuff."

"...right," says Mal finally. "Well, come inside, I just pulled up myself. I'm gathering everyone in the back parlor in five."

"Habit," Nita explains with a shrug. "Nita calls him Gary and that's the name I'll give everyone else. Secret agents work better when they're secret after all." By way of adjusting her shoe, she manages to get closer to Mal so she can whisper, "you can grill me later."

When they head inside, Carver and Beth are already in the back parlor, watching television— something mindless, to drown out their thoughts. So it's only Leandra and Gamlen Mal has to fetch before he's once again facing his whole family, plus two strangers, one blonde and the other red-headed. _At least the news is so much better this time._

"Thank you all for gathering. I have an important announcement," he says, but there's an ease to his posture, a small smile on his face.

_In any other family, this would be about a new sibling or a promotion at work. With us? Maybe he's finally figured out a way to get that divorce. That'd be nice,_ Beth muses to herself as she cuddles into Carver's side

Finally shifting her gaze from the steady, almost hostile stare she's been giving her son's hand, currently holding the hand of a redheaded stranger, towards her so-called husband, Leandra frowns. "Must you always be so dramatic, Malcolm?"

"I hope you can forgive me," he replies simply. "I have come across incontrovertible proof that the Templar lied about the Rite of Annulment." He waits a beat, then adds, "Marian's alive. She's coming home."

Carver sits bolt upright, staring at his father in shock. "Th-this isn't funny," he says, tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"She— what— Alive? You're sure? For sure sure?" Beth demands, not even noticing her mother's reaction. Gamlen does, given that she's crushing his hand while she has a full on attack of the vapors.

"It's true. A hundred per cent. I wouldn't lie about this," says Mal, softly, wiping a tear from his eye. "She's coming home."

"Coming home," Beth echoes. "When? How— is she okay? Where is she? How did she survive? When will she—"

"Easy, easy!" says Mal, holding up his hands. "I don't know. She's resting now, with her mercenary friends that brought her home. She hasn't slept in a while, so I don't know how long she'll be out. But hopefully she'll be up in time for your birthday tomorrow."

"She's _here_?" Beth demands.

"Why didn't you bring her here?" Leandra demands, evidently recovered enough to talk. Well, shriek. "She needs to be with her _family_."

_Because you're a bigoted, Templar-loving bitch mostly_. Nita doesn't say a word, however, just holds Garrett's hand as she strokes him with her thumb.

"She doesn't have a bedroom anymore. Someone gave it away. So I rented her and her bodyguards a beach house," Malcolm says, with calm and patience far exceeding his actual feelings.

Trying to stay out of Garrett's field of view on the edges of the room, Maribell winces. _I still don't understand why Auntie Lea did that... Her explanation about it being a better setup for amenities and security seemed reasonable at the time, I guess. But after all this, it just doesn't seem enough. It really doesn't sound like Marian had moved out like Auntie Lea implied. Or... Or did she? Did I just assume?_

"When can we see her?" Beth demands.

"I told you, I don't know. She needs her rest after her ordeal. But I've been to see her— she didn't even stir when I peeked in on her— and I left word with her bodyguard that she's free to come over as soon as she's up, we'll feed her."

"Which house?" Leandra demands, rising to her feet. "Bodyguards are no substitute for a mother's care."

"She's asleep." Malcolm's voice is firm. "Leandra, perhaps you need rest yourself; you're overwrought."

She recoils a little, clearly hearing the echo of her own accusation not that long ago. "I am not— I am perfectly wrought, thank you."

"Should— should I start moving my things?" Maribell asks meekly, both because she wants to know and to derail the clearly forming argument.

"Let's not make decisions without talking to her first," says Malcolm, firmly.

"I don't think she'll want to stay here," says Garrett, his voice quiet. "I spoke with her last night. I think she'll... I don't think she'll stay here."

"It's entirely her decision, and we'll respect that, whatever her decision is," says Malcolm firmly.

"This is her _home_!" Leandra insists shrilly.

"No it isn't," Beth says quietly, hand gripping Carver's with painful force. Her voice trembles, but she nevertheless speaks up. "Not since you told her to 'get over your foolishness' and then called her a sinful dyke when she refused."

Garrett turns to gape at his sister, openly. _Standing up to Mother? That's... ballsy._

Carver, by contrast, leans forward, as if to put himself physically between his twin and his mother.

Leandra gapes at her youngest daughter; the good child, the one that never talks back, that never embarrasses the family or disappoints her. The one that is staring at her, shoulders trembling but eyes steady. "Bethany, you... I never said..." She falters, unable to come up with a reply. "I was hurt," she tries to justify. "I just wanted to help her and she was so— She wouldn't listen."

"Regardless, what's done is done, and it will be up to Marian how much or little she wants to be here, or what she does next," says Mal firmly.

"But..."

Leandra trails off, looking lost and confused. Rising to his feet as well, Gamlen clears his throat. "Right. Well. I think maybe might be best if we all went our ways, let things cool and such. Let's go watch a nice movie, Lea. Or we're still playing catch-up with Game of Thrones— let's see how that Rob fellow's wedding goes, yeah? That'll be nice, right?" She sniffles and nods, leaning against him as he guides her out.

Once she leaves the room, Juanita shakes her head. "I almost feel bad for her. Perhaps we should have warned her that something else might have better choice if she wants a light diversion."

Garrett snorts. "It's fine. She enjoys getting upset, I think."

"Who are you anyway?" Beth asks, narrowing her eyes at their closeness.

"Beth, Carver, this is Juanita. We're... coworkers," he says, in that awkward way that implies more.

Carver narrows his eyes, not liking the sound of that.

"Coworkers. What about—" Beth pauses, glancing over a Maribell. "What we talked about on the boat?"

"Not to worry, he's the one that assigned us to work together," assures Garrett.

Bethany goggles a little, then whistles. "Nice boss," she says slowly. _How the hell do you pull that off? And can you teach it to me? The fit redhead part, not the Uncle thing. Eww!_

"Varric is pretty great," Juanita says with a soft laugh. But Garrett just looks away, swallowing. _I hope so._

* * *

In the backseat of her father's Bently, as the driver takes them inexorably toward the house, Marian grabs her girlfriend's hand, holding it tightly. She glances at Bull in the front seat, taking a deep breath. "You two remember the rules? Whatever they say about me, don't hit them unless they hit first. Magic or fists." _You too, Tanna,_ she adds, keeping a tight grip on her mana.

"I'm tiny and weak, can I slap them?" Merrill asks hopefully overtop Tanna's mental scoff at not protecting her Love.

"No," she growls. "We're kind of in hiding, remember? Best behavior."

"Best to just use your words, Daisy. Be polite until they aren't, then rip them apart to protect your girl if you have to," Bull suggests, fiddling with the too tight dress shirt he'd had to wear.

Marian sighs. "It's Mother that will be the problem. I guess Father's changed— it sounds like it, from what you said about him coming by earlier. You'll like the younger siblings. Beth is really sweet, and wicked funny. Carver's quiet— really quiet— but loyal and protective. My twin's an idiot; dropped out of school, high on Maker-knows-what. A real tough guy, hangs out with a bad crowd."

"He's rather pulled himself together these last few months, miss Amell," the driver, a dapper looking elf remarks. "If you'll pardon my saying so."

_Beth is the one we dreamed about naked with us. Really wish I hadn't remembered that just now. I'm totally going to be picturing her tits when I met her and won't that just be super awkward?._ Merrill clears her throat. "That's good to hear."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Marian remarks, but then she falls silent, staring up at the mansion as they make their way through the gate. "Remember. Don't let them get to you," she adds, as they pull up the drive toward the front door.

_This place makes you feel a great many things, my Love. I don't like most of them. They make you feel... small. We should go back to the den by the big water. I want to see how deep it goes._

"Big place," Bull comments. "Be a right bitch to defend from an incursion though." He snorts. "What's that thing on the top of the fountain? Looks like a fish."

_All the way down_ , Marian comments to Tanna. "Home sweet home," she murmurs, getting out as the car comes to a stop. "Thanks," she adds, to the driver. _New driver, I guess._ She slips out of the car, unlocking the front door deftly with her fingerprint as she lets them in. "Well, this is the place," she says, feeling supremely weird about the whole thing. "We'll just—"

She stops, spying motion in the front parlor, and peeks her head in. She stops dead when she sees the scene before her.

"Hello, twin," says Garrett, eyes half-closed. He can't get up to hug her; Beth is painting the nails of his left hand, and his right is drying, while Carver does his makeup.

"...Garrett."

"Marian!" With a wild shout, Beth bolts from her seat without any concern for the bottle of Spicy Crimson Sunrise spilling all over Garrett's hand. She launches herself at Marian, tears in her eyes.

Smiling slightly, Merrill glances over at Bull as she watches the siblings reunite. _I really wish... Well. Happiness will come from where it comes. I— I fixed the mirror. But I don't really feel like I have any real urge to return to Sabrae and share it. I don't know what to do with that. Or what it means that I feel this way._

Carver follows, a moment later; the three siblings embrace, Marian wrapping an arm around each of the younger two. "I missed you too, kiddos. Sorry I worried you."

Garrett rights the bottle of nail polish, leaving it to dry on his clothes and the carpet. "Hi, I'm Garrett," he says, with a grin. "I'd offer to shake your hand, but wet nails."

Merrill cocks her head to the side. "I could help with that if you liked," she offers. "Oh! Sorry, I'm Merrill. Or Daisy. From clan Sabrae." She flushes, looking awkward and nervous.

"Beth," the youngest Amell supplies as she looks the elf over. _Cute, in a willowy beanpole sort of way. Pretty eyes I guess. And her hair is totes lush. Wonder what she uses on it?_. "Do you attend Oxford with my sister?"

_She's grown some since you saw her last. That dream old me sent was inaccurate,_ Tanna notes with dissatisfaction. There's a feeling of consideration, then a mental nod.

_Please don't send any more sex dreams of my littermates!_ "No, she's from Cambridge," Marian's mouth says.

"It's better not to cast on me, but thank you," says Garrett. Unlike Marian, her twin carries himself with an air that just seems dangerous, powerful: he's clearly a mage, power almost spilling from his skin despite his silk boxers, silk necktie, the pair of silk gloves resting beside the nail polish spill.

Merrill blinks a few times. "May I ask why?"

"Cambridge? So did you just—" Beth suddenly breaks off, eyes widening as she finally notices Bull leaning against a nearby wall. "Woah," she says softly. _Good lord, he's huge! Is that Marian's bodyguard? Damn! Makes Garrett's Frank look like a wuss!_

"It's best not to startle me," Garrett admits, a little sheepish. "I can be a little... trigger-happy lately."

"I totally get that," Merrill says with a empathic nod. "I'll remember to be careful if I ever need to heal you or whatever."

_Oh. Humans don't engage in pleasuring with littermates!_ Tanna suddenly declares after a few moments of lightly skimming Marian's memories. _That's interesting. Is that why that dream didn't work?_

"No need," Garrett says quickly. "I'm a healer myself. I mostly take care of my own injuries."

"Idiot," mumbles Marian, looking away. _Not quite, no. But yes. That's what freaked me out._

Merrill's eyebrows shoot up. "That's a risky habit," she comments. "Healing yourself, I mean. Unless it's just a scrape or the like." She blushes suddenly. "Sorry, I can get distracted easily. It's very nice to meet you." She thinks a moment, then shrugs and steps forward to kiss his cheek in greeting.

Beth clears her throat. "And... him?" she asks in a very low voice, flicking her eyes towards Bull.

"My bodyguard, Altha— The Iron Bull." Marian shakes her head. "He's fine, you can trust him."

"Likewise," says Garrett, smirking just a bit. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Anyway, come, sit?"

Bull glances at the chairs— artsy little wood chairs— and snorts. "I'm good but thanks," he says with a smile. _Kid has his dad's smirk. Looks nicer on Malcolm though._

"Let me clarify," says Garrett, smile turning more nervous. " _I_ need to sit, and it's rude to leave guests standing."

_Damn! Waaaaay too dude for me but that voice! I could listen to him read for hours._ Beth shakes her head as they all move over to take seats, Bull shifting walls instead. "Okay, so, being rude and blunt now; your eyes are purple. Wicked cool but huh?"

"Yup," says Marian, disinclined to elaborate.

Beth, however, is inclined to pester. "Glad you're aware. Spill. What happened? You're also nearly as tall as Garrett now."

"It's complicated," Marian replies, her tone holding a warning. "I don't really want to go into the details. How's school?"

Beth huffs loudly, turning her head away. "Fine," she says shortly. _Guess she hasn't changed all that much. Nothing personal, just academics._ "So, Cambridge, huh? How'd you meet her?" she asks, directing the question to Merrill.

"On the expedition, just this month. My focus is in the Fade and trans-spatial magics, among a few other things that were relevant, so I got tapped for it." She smiles warmly at Marian. "And despite the hardships, I'm very glad for it."

Marian's smile is tense, and she doesn't reach for Merrill's hand. "Yeah," she says, shifting a bit. "I'm always glad to meet good people."

Beth smirks a little. "Good people, huh? 'bout time you 'met' someone."

Marian blushes, looking away. "Yeah," she says, her tone clipped.

_Should we cast a defensive spell?_

_No! Don't cast anything. If we cast, we lose. This is a— this is a social battle, not a magical one._

"Bit of a brat, huh?" Bull notes with amusement.

Bethany gives the bodyguard a wide-eyed look. "Me? Whatever do you mean, good sir?"

Marian snorts. "Brat's a good word for it."

Garrett frowns, rubbing his leg. "Well, how about telling us about your trip?"

_I can't cast unless you let me. Well, for now, the bond is still settling. But why are you so scared if this is just talking?_

_Because if I lose, we might have to fight. Hush. I need to focus_. "Well, it was a disaster, but I got the material I need to publish a thesis, so I'm all set for my doctorate," says Marian aloud.

"Umm. A lot of it is still, uh, under non-disclosing agreements?" Merrill offers. "But we sorta maybe discovered like..." She pauses to count quickly in her head. "Five things that redefine or drastically expand an entire field of study? So yeah, we have enough for about fifty dozen doctorates."

_Can I have, what is your word? Ah, yes, 'mana' to talk too?_

_No, it's better if they don't know you exist,_ snaps Marian.

Garrett whistles. "That's impressive. Congratulations."

"Marian was the star of the show really," Merrill adds, giving her girlfriend a fond smile. "Almost as bad as Pyro about not taking care of herself, but she's humbling really."

"That's evidently an Amell trait," Beth says with an eyeroll and a lovingly annoyed look at her two brothers. "Or maybe a Hawke one, given that dad does it too."

Carver rubs the back of his neck, bashful. _I ate breakfast today..._

Garrett massages the outside of his knee, similarly rueful. "Perhaps."

"In any event, I figured I'd spend the night here before heading back to the beach house tomorrow," says Marian, trying to get off the subject of her bad behavior.

Beth winces a little, mouth opening to say something but Merrill speaks first. "You know, it occurs to me that you still owe me a coffee. Date coffee I mean, not just work coffee."

Marian reddens. "I— I suppose I do," she manages.

Beth, distracted, giggles a little. "I knew it," she says, clearly pleased. "She's way too attentive of you to just be a friend."

"The two of them are fucking _adorable_ ," Bull agrees. "Much awkward, much cute."

"Hey," says Marian sharply, to her sister. "It's none of your business either way."

Beth flinches back. "Woah, what the fuck?"

"She's not Mother," Garrett cuts in. "Beth's not said a single word against your friend."

Marian scowls, glancing away as she concedes the point.

"I'm happy for you," Beth mutters, looking away, stung.

"Umm. Yes. I suppose we are a bit... sappy? It's not resin, right?"

"Nah, you got it," Bull assures her. "Same thing for trees, but sappy is the one used for romantic."

"Are you? Happy for me?" asks Marian, with a frown. "I know I'm not exactly anyone's favorite sibling. I know my... my deviance isn't welcome here."

Beth sighs a little. "Yes Marian. I was always fine with you being bisexual," she says quietly. "One of my best friends at school is bi and like, Maker, four or five others are gay or bi? Mom and her parents are... They aren't us," she says, gesturing at her and her brothers. "None of us care who you date. Well, I mean, we'd care if they were an asshole or abusive or whatever but that's not what I meant."

"Yesterday we thought you were dead," says Carver, bluntly. "She could be a serial killer and I'd still rather you be here dating her, than not here."

Marian swallows, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "Oh," she says quietly. "I thought..."

Merrill shifts so she's leaning against Marian, offering support.

"I guess... I guess you're not.. ugh." Beth sighs. "We didn't exactly charge forward to support you, when you came out to mom. So you kinda had reason to worry." Making a face, she adds, "sorry about that."

Marian, no longer willing to pretend, wraps an arm around Merrill, pulling her a bit closer. "I don't belong here in Kirkwall," she says, after a moment. "We all know that, I think."

"You could," Garrett says, quietly. "You don't have to leave."

"Bit more comfy at the moment, what with the sudden decline in Templar population," Bull observes with a too pleased grin.

"Um, what?" Beth asks, staring at him a little uncomfortably.

"You know I do," says Marian, quickly, trying to cut off that line of topic. "This is nice. I've missed being together like this. But sooner or later, the same problems are going to come up."

"I guess but... can't you just get a place nearby? England is _really_ far," Beth protests.

_That's kind of the point_ , she doesn't say aloud. "It's not like you live here most of the year anyway," she points out instead.

"You could move to Florida," Carver points out.

"No," she says flatly. "Not the UP."

_Holy shit, that was a survival instinct! Things are already looking up,_ Bull thinks to himself with resigned amusement.

"Not the—" Beth nods. "Good, yes, not the UP. I love our school but..." She sighs. "Yeah, not the UP. Maybe one of the other islands in the Free Caribbean? I— I miss you." The young woman ducks her head, a little embarrassed at saying it so bluntly.

"...Maybe I can visit more often. Let's see how this one goes," she says, after a long moment.

Beth bites her lip. "Maybe... maybe we should meet at Varric's place?" she offers weakly.

"I don't think that's wise," says Garrett. "He likes his privacy."

"I know, sure, but you don't think he'd let us invade to avoid, and I quote, 'the bitch you married, Mal.'" Beth shrugs, having long ago accept both that her mother can be a real bitch and that her uncle has a reciprocated loathing of the woman.

_Your mother is worrying_ , Tanna observes almost timidly. _Has she gone feral?_

_No. She's... just... she's just Mother._ Marian frowns, watching her twin carefully.

"He just got back from... from the Templar. He's not in a good space today. Give him time," says Garrett, firmly.

Beth's confidence falters and she winces. "Right. Sorry, I... Right." _I almost forgot, given that I didn't know until it was over and... It just didn't seem as real as when you were taken._

"Beach house we're crashing at is pretty nice," Bull comments. "Almost as big as this place, if not half as, uh, shiny. And no weird fish statue in a fountain out front."

"I'll stay here through tomorrow, for your birthday, and then we'll head back to the beach house. Maybe we can host something later, from there. Or whatever. We'll figure it out." Marian smiles, then, getting to her feet. "Come on, Merrill, Bull, I'll give you the tour."

Beth starts to offer to go with but scowls. "Wait, no— I should probably finish your nails and..." She trails off, looking apologetic as she sees the smears of polish on his hand and pants. "Oops? Carver, you should go with them."

Carver looks unhappy, but he nods, silent, his lips pressed together.

"Why the fuck are you doing nails and makeup anyway?" asks Marian, frowning.

"Why, don't I look pretty?" asks Garrett, smirking.

Beth gives her twin a half questioning, half comforting look. Looking Garrett over, Merrill offers, "more handsome than pretty. But the make-up does add a bit of charm to your looks."

"Dumbass," mutters Marian. "This some kind of prank or?"

"Beth dared me," he admits, seeming entirely unoffended.

"If he's willing to keep it on for dinner, I have to clean his car," Beth says cheerfully, making shooing motions. _I know, ma'win, but you should spend time with her._

Carver gives a small, barely perceptible sigh, then nods, smiling at Marian. "Right. Tour. Got it."

"I've never been in a house with an upstairs," Merrill remarks, looking strangely excited about the tour.

_It's small and flimsy,_ Tanna says sullenly, her displeasure at being ignored and told off clear.

Marian shows her the grand front stairs, talking about the back stairs: an antiquity that dates back to the time when the ground floor housed servants quarters, before they were renovated into the downstairs guest rooms and her father's study. She shows the double-doors at the top of the stairs that lead to her parents' bedroom, the hallway to the left and right with bedrooms for the four kids, the trapdoor to the attic.

"And this is my room," she says, pushing open the last door on the left. "It—"

—is a little bit of Southern UP really. A half dozen vases filled with hothouse flowers, white lace on all the dressers and tables, a huge canopy bed with a sunflower pattern and a life sized painting of Andraste are just the tip of the iceberg. The ceiling is painted to resemble the night sky, with the sun in the form of the Chantry sunburst. It smells of flowers; honeysuckle and apple blossom, not that any of them could likely identify either scent. There's an electric keyboard in one corner next to a changing curtain where the quartet can see movement and hear someone humming.

A beat later, the humming stops and a head pokes out. A very pretty blonde woman maybe the twins age stares at them with wide eyes, then wails softly. "Why doesn't anyone ever _knock_?"

"—has been changed into a guest room what the fuck?!" she finishes. "Who are you?"

"Oh, fuck, right, Maribell," Carver says, quickly. "Uh, you can sleep in my room?" he offers.

"...I think she's naked?" Merrill whispers to Bull, who nods a little.

The head retreats behind the panel and the sound of clothing rustling can be heard. "Carver? What's going on?"

"...I'm Marian Hawke Amell," says Marian, scowling. "Who are you? Maribell what? Why are you here? Why didn't anyone tell me my room was.... changed?"

_Oh Maker. Why does no-one tell me anything!? I thought I'd have more time to— okay. Okay._ Quickly finishing dressing, she steps out into view again wearing a very darling looking pale pink sundress and tights. "Maribell Rutherford of the Georgia Rutherfords, Miss Amell," she replies, dipping into a curtsy. "I— your mother has... invited me to stay with her for a while and she offered me— that is to say, she—" She fumbles her words, looking distressed. "I didn't know this was your room, I'm sorry!"

Marian looks around, slightly disgusted. "Well it's yours now," she says, curtly. "I wouldn't sleep here for all the gold in Tevinter. Thanks, Car, but the guest room's fine for me. Where did she put my things?"

"Uh... the attic I think," says Carver, looking morose.

"I suppose I'm lucky they haven't been sold. Have a nice afternoon, Miss Rutherford." Marian turns, then, making her way out of the room.

"It was very nice meeting you, Miss Rutherford," Merrill offers kindly. "I like the flowers. And the stars." She smiles at the younger woman, getting a weak smile back, then reaches out to close the door before pulling Marian into a hug.

"Your mom's a real ice cold bitch," Bull says in a low voice, shaking his head.

Marian pulls free of Merrill, heading for the stairs. "Sometimes," she says, her expression dark but her tone even. _Maker, they thought I was dead and she gave my room away first thing_. "Come on, let's see which guest room is in the best shape. Two guest rooms, I should say, I'm sure Bull will want his own."

"Might be less awkward, though it's not like we didn't have to share living space after the Templar left us to die," Bull points out.

"It'd be nice to have a bed after our date instead of a freezer," Marian says bluntly.

"I can stand guard," Bull says brightly, then laughs when Merrill punches him in the gut.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Marian," Merrill says with a playful sniff. "I have very high standards you know."

"Mm, I'm sure," replies Marian. "Pop quiz: what are they?"

_Umm. Crap._ "Well," she stalls. "I want to feel— to be made to feel special. Wanted. Desired. Hmmm. I want to laugh bunches. To feel like I know you better than I did at the start of the date." A pause. "And dancing. I've never danced with anyone before," she says softly.

"Then tonight, I'll take you out to dinner and we'll go dancing." She grins.

Merrill beams at her. "I'd like that very much."

_Me too! Can we have cake? Or ice cream?_

Marian's smile dims. _Right. We're going to need to lay some ground rules..._

* * *

"Are you on a secure line?" That's never a good start to a phone call.

"Fairly secure," Aveline says slowly. "It's supposed to be secure but so was my— other things." Given that her work computer was hacked, he likely can't blame her for being wary.

"Then I'll keep to things that will soon be public knowledge anyway: I got the paternity test back. My daughter is alive."

_"What?"_

"That was truly my daughter who walked out of the Fade, into the Gallows, and rescued Varric alongside his men. I had assumed it was a demon, and was prepared to take measures, but she bleeds, she has blood that tests as human, she has no sign of abomination in her blood, and she matches my DNA. She is truly my daughter."

"You—" Vallen goes silent for a long moment. "That... changes a lot of things," she says slowly.

"It does, and it doesn't. They left her for dead, with no food or heat, in a blizzard. With a killer demon on the loose, which she slew."

"How many others survived? From what I've put together, there should have been... thirteen people left behind?" Vallen says slowly. "Seven security, two professors, one doctor, three undergrads."

"Eleven." He does quick math. "One of the security guards must have passed. Another was badly wounded, he's still in the hospital recovering. Another two were wounded, but not so badly, they were patched up and discharged. I've put them in a safe location."

"Eleven? Tell me that Doctors Janar and Korcari are among the living? And willing to testify?"

"The younger Dr Korcari and Dr Janar both survived," he confirms. "I believe one of the grad students perished, but I'm uncertain which one."

"That's... that's good. I mean about the doctors, not— Doctor Janar has a very solid reputation as being largely apolitical and Doctor Korcari is heir to one hell of an academic legacy. There are a dozen or so foundations and grants with her name on them." _This could be the break I need to keep momentum. Maker curse Dumar as a fool and a traitor thrice over._

"I am sure she will want to testify as well. It seems the demon killed her mother, and the Templar blamed Marian for that death."

"That is... fairly good motivation, yes," Aveline says wryly. "Can you arrange for them— your daughter and the two doctors at the least— to come by the precinct?"

"I will ask. Not today, and tomorrow is the twins' birthday, but I can ask if the doctors are willing to drop by tomorrow."

"That would be fine. Have them wait nearby and send someone unknown in to speak with Officers Andy za'Frane or Wylde Lowell. They'll contact me so I can bring them in without issue."

"I'll pass that along." Malcolm gives a small, happy sigh. "And Aveline? Thank you. I really appreciate your help."

"That's my duty," Aveline says, voice just a little stiffer than previously.

"Of course. Still. It seems there are few who remember their duty in Kirkwall these days. So thank you."

A slight pause. "Of course. Take care, Mister Amell. And remember to talk to someone." Before he can reply, she hangs up the phone. _Damn that man! Why did Dumar have to put that idea in my head? Now I can't—_ Taking a deep breath, Aveline tries to focus on the job. _That's what's important. Justice and duty._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett's come home, with Leliana at his side; so has Marian, with Tanna still in her head and Iron Bull her bodyguard. With the house full, Marian decides to try going on a date with Merrill...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Recovery from trauma, Family drama, rape recovery

Marian manages to dig up an old dress, to change and flee, before her mother rises from her nap. Call it cowardly, dishonest, or whatever else you will; she has no wish to see her mother, and only a fleeting desire to see her father. She's already spoken to everyone she wanted to see here tonight.

She takes Merrill out shopping, buys her a nice gown, waits while she changes; then she takes her to an upscale restaurant, a vegan place she suspects Merrill will enjoy and that she can stand. Then, as promised, she takes her dancing, to a nightclub where she plies her with drinks (mostly lemon fizzy waters after the first two but it's the spirit of things that's important) and teaches her (and Tanna) to dance.

When she lets them into the house, giggling and kissing, she doesn't notice Malcolm sitting up in the parlor to talk to her; he lets her go, sighing wistfully, recognizing the signs of young love. _I can scold her tomorrow. I'm just glad she's safe._

Marian pushes Merrill up against the wall of the guest room, kissing her deeply, drunk on love as much as on alcohol. Another kiss takes them into the room, where she pauses only long enough to peel her dress off before kissing her again. She crawls onto the bed, kissing Merrill, tugging her close, letting the elf's hands roam up and down her body, letting her slip a hand into her panties, before—

before—

She lets out a plaintive cry, eyes wide, and pushes back from Merrill, panting, electric sparks playing down her arms. _Lock it down (don't hurt me) don't hurt Merill (stop, please)._

Breathing ragged from both lust and a light sting of pain— _like dozens of static shocks, all up and down my body_ — Merrill stares at Marian. "I— what— did I— What happened? Did I do something wrong?" she stammers out.

The sullen, wounded feeling that is Tanna stirs in the far back of Marian's mind. As her magic surges through their shared body, the spirit sends out a timid message. _Our body is flooded with fear. What is the danger? Can I help?_

_No you can **not**_ , she snarls, and she pushes Tanna as far from herself as she can get, pulling her mana and her thoughts into a tight little packet to prevent her from getting at them. _Danger_ , her mind says, _rape_. So she shoves as hard as she can, lashing out, a tendril of mana spiraling off as it tries to build somewhere for Tanna to go.

A shrill scream of pain reverberates through their head, the second most painful thing that's ever happened to Marian. It feels like a tooth being ground into shards without novocaine, like her mother's rejection, like the failure in Greece, like being stabbed in the gut. A grotesque, twisting mess of light pools in the corner of the room. After a moment, it resolves into an amorphous figure, just barely recognizable as human, curled into a ball and shuddering. It, no she, keens softly in despair and rocks back and forth in tiny, helpless, movements. Despite that, Marian can still feel Tanna, still feels that the spirit is in just as much agony and discomfort and loss as Marian is. Amidst all that, neither really notices Merrill trying to help, to figure out what's going on.

_Get out get out get out get out get out_ is all she can think, curling into a ball, shuddering violently. _parasite demon rapist leave me alone!_ She can't keep it up, can't keep pushing against the pain, so she makes herself small, pulls herself so far inward she couldn't cast if she tried, huddles as tight as she can get.

The illusionary figure pops like a soap bubble and the pain fades. Her body aches and her heart grieves, but the pain fades. Tanna does as well, diminishing herself as best she can to the very back of Marian's mind.

"Marian! Marian, talk to me!"

"Hurts," she whimpers, shuddering again. "Hurts."

Not having any better ideas, Merrill uses a tiny dollop of Mana to sharpen a nail. Slicing open her wrist, she deftly twists the pouring blood into a very powerful but unspecific healing spell.

Marian whimpers, her shivering slowly ceasing. "I can't," she whispers.

"Can't what, falon?" Merrill asks softly, fighting the urge to hug Marian. To stroke her hair or wipe her brow.

"I can't do this. I can't. I can't keep going like this," she whispers.

"What's wrong?" Merrill asks gently. _This isn't about the sex. I think? What was she trying to cast?_

"She raped me," she whispers, shuddering. "Tanna and Petrice, they raped me."

A faint ripple of objection and shame reach Marian but fades rapidly. "I— why didn't you say anything?" Merrill asks, rocking back on her heels. "I would have— I don't know, gone slower? Talked more first? Gods, something."

"I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to taint _us_ with _that_ , I don't—" She swallows. "I have to _live_ with her."

"I know. A bonding like this is forever," Merrill says gently, timidly offering a hand. _And if I had doubts, seeing what happened when you tried to expel her just now silenced them pretty much completely._ "What happened?"

"I— I _remembered_. I felt— I felt afraid. And she said something and I just couldn't— she kept making snarky comments all night, about how she was eager to get to this part, and I— I just— I just couldn't stand her in my head one more minute."

_She was eager to get to this part? That's, umm, weird? I think? Maybe? Yes._ "Have the two of you actually talked about... what happened before the pool? Between the two of you?"

Marian shakes her head, silent.

"Marian..." the elf sighs. "Why not?"

"I don't want to think about it," she whispers, sounding a touch derisive, bitter.

"...has that been working?" Merrill asks gently.

"Yes," she snaps. "I'll just never fuck anyone, it's fine."

_Objection!_ "Marian, really?" Merrill gives her a chiding but patient look. "It's clearly not working. I know I can't know what this is like, but I can see enough from the outside to know what you're doing now isn't tenable."

"I have to. I can't think about it. When I do it makes my skin crawl and I want her _out_ of my _head_ and my _body_ and she's living in my body _changing me into someone else_ and I can't—" She takes a few sharp, too-fast breaths.

"Marian, look at me. Look over at me. Just at me. Take a breath. Nice and slow. Look at me, right here. Breath in, hold, breath out. Slow and steady." _Thank Mythal I asked Althawr Alhadidiu about how to help trauma victims. Just wished I'd thought to ask how to notice when they need that help in the first place. Dummy._

Slowly Marian calms, though her iron grip lessens not a whit. Her breathing slows, and she closes her eyes, hiding from the intimacy of eye contact. Her hand begins twitching, bleeding off some of her anxious energy into a staccato drumbeat on her leg, played with her outstretched thumb and pinkie.

Merrill keeps up a constant stream of whispers, sometimes slipping into elven when her English won't come smoothly enough. "You're safe, falon. You're safe. I have you. Do you want your dress?"

She shakes her head, wishing she had a nice soft nightgown to pull on instead. Her hand doesn't stop moving, but her breathing levels out, and her grip on her mana relaxes just a touch.

"How about the sheet?" Merrill offers, voice still low and smooth, body language passive and unthreatening. "Do you want to hug or cuddle? For me to move further away?"

As Merrill continues to talk, the slight relaxing of Marian's magic allows the bond to widen as well. A steady pulse of shame, fear, betrayal and confusion wells up inside the mage, the emotions alien and yet her own in some undefinable way.

"Don't, don't," whimpers Marian. "Tanna, I'm talking to Tanna," she adds, as Merrill begins to reply. "She's sending feelings to me."

_I can't help it,_ Tanna whispers. _I can feel what you can feel but I can't— you feel so much. How do you stand it?_ The emotions dim, just a shade, as the spirit doubles down on trying to force herself small.

"it's your fault," she hisses. "I feel this way because you _raped_ me."

_I didn't! That was the other me, the wrong me! I'm **not** her!_

"Yes you are!" Marian shudders. "How are you not? I took you into the pool right after, and we came out like this."

_Exactly! That wasn't this me! You changed me, broke me back into what I should have always been! The pool kills spirits, it's too rich. It drowns us until we burst. But you were there so I didn't lose myself when I regained my concept. She wanted to tempt people, invoke desires and make them yearn. But she did it wrong, she was wrong, she thought wrong, she wanted wrong._

"You... died?" Marian recalls pain, pain like nothing she'd ever experienced, pain and clinging and— her gut roils, and she clamps a hand over her mouth, breathing through her nose.

_I— Spirits don't die forever. At least, not without— there are ways. But normally, when we die, we eventually reform in their /conceptual font/ in the /proper plane of existence/ or what you call the Fade. But it's not us. I mean, it is but it isn't. We remember what we were, what we are, but we don't remember more than shadows of before our death. But your body kept me from breaking entirely so I reformed much, much faster. Before my memories were able to vanish._

There's a long pause. _I remember Scelaeyricla, the /truest flesh and blood/ I was bonded with before. I cherish those memories. I remember Clemence. And Petrice. I hate those memories. I wish I didn't have them. They aren't mine and I don't want them._

"Did I...?" asks Marian, her mind finishing the thought she can't voice aloud.

_Your heart stopped and your skin and bones— No. You were strong enough to live. The pool can't restore life to beings of flesh and blood. But I think you shared my death._

"I lived," she breathes. "I survived. I'm strong." Marian takes a deep breath, then another. "But you died and were reformed. That much at least I knew— spirits don't die forever. Alright. So you're not— you're not _her_."

_I remember what she did but it's wrong. It... grates inside me. I— what she did, it's wrong. I'm sorry, I can't find the right words. It's like... reading one of your math problems, a really long one. And it all makes sense, each step makes sense but then the answer is wrong. And you know it's wrong but you can't see where the mistake was made. But it's there and it hurts that it's there, hurts worse because it seems reasonable and right but it's not right and she hurt you! She hurt my Bonded! I **remember** hurting you!_

"I remember you hurting me too," whispers Marian. "That's why I wanted you to give me space."

_Oh. I didn't understand. I was just so excited to... I miss my family._

"You're a spirit," she grumbles, wounded. "You don't have family."

A wave of images gently wash over Marian. The world, as seen through the eyes of a True Dragon, a god made flesh. Hunting with his mates, swimming through the small lake as a youth and learning how to open just a little of his mouth to catch a fish without getting a belly full of water. The long vigil watching over his female mate as she laid their first clutch. Helping his partner teach one of their daughters, born with a deformed wing, how to fly using magic to create a wing made of what Marian realizes is a shaped barrier spell. Long, lazy afternoons discussing topics ranging from simple household tasks to subjects Marian can't make head nor tails of.

_I had a family. I was loved. I was whole._

By the time it relents, Marian is openly sobbing, weeping into the pillow. _I never was. I never._

She loosens her grip a little more, letting images roll their way to Tanna in return: awkward family dinners where nobody makes eye contact, being told she's a 'sinful dyke', standing awkwardly in the corner at her grandparent's while they celebrate their birthday, snubbed in favor of her twin. Sitting in the front row with her hand raised to answer a question, being overlooked for other students because she's a 'problem'. Being given 24 hours to leave Greece before she'll be arrested. Shame. Guilt. Exclusion.

Tanna counters with memories once again, this time much more recently gained. Bull threatening to break her legs, but this time Marian can feel the Qunari's devouring need for Marian to survive, to not lose another loved one. Morrigan bringing her a mug of lukewarm water, the best they can manage for tea in the Fade, as well as a carefully restrained but growing desire for friendship. Dagna, fussing over Marian before coming here, with her constantly repeated reminders that Marian still has a job to do with the Shirén; the awkward scholar's fumbling attempts to show Marian that she's wanted and needed by someone. Merrill, gazing at her with a kind of bemused wonder, a stunned sort of acceptance that someone was wonderful as Marian would want to date her. Would consider loving her. And finally Tanna herself in that moment near the pool when the spirit showed Marian how to do blood magic and the human had gotten the barest glimpse of what Bonding meant to Tantalizing Dreams.

_Family. I have a family: Bull, Morrigan, Danga, Merrill. A big brother, a cousin, a mom, a girlfriend. Family._ She wipes at her eyes, then, reaching to take Merrill's hand, to try and reach out. To show her she does appreciate her fussing, instead of simply not complaining.

The elf takes it quickly, eagerly. "Hey. You... you two okay?" she asks tentatively. _It's really nerve wracking, only hearing half a conversation like this. Less than half, actually, given that they must be talking inside their head too._

"No," she admits. "But we're getting there."

"That's promising," she half asks, half says. "Do, umm, do either of you want to talk? With someone else, I mean."

_She— she would help me as well?_ Tanna thinks, sounding startled.

Marian releases a little mana to Tanna— not much, just enough to make a wisp if she wishes. "I... I don't know. It's so— she says she died, in the pool. I nearly did, too. We're something different now, both of us. I don't know how to... how to cope with that. But she says you're my family, and I don't know how to have a family but I want to try."

Sensing Marian's intent, Tanna does exactly that. "Thank you, ma— Merrill." _Right, humans don't call their mates, mate._

_For what?_ "I didn't realize spirits _could_ die, exactly. Don't they just return past the Veil?" She's blushing a little at the 'family' comment, but seems pleased.

"The pool held her close, reformed her inside me instead of in the Fade. That's why she still remembers her past life."

"Oh." Merrill winces a little. "So she remembers... hurting you?"

"Yes," Tanna confirms softly. "It hurts. I— Hurting our Bonded, our other half, it's wrong. I shouldn't have wanted to even try. It doesn't make sense. She _hurt_ my Love."

"And you're her... her successor, at least, and you're _changing_ me, and it freaks me out."

The wisp quivers, but stays silent for a moment. "You are also changing me," Tanna offers. "But— but I knew I would change. You do not seem to know how being Bonded works at all."

"I don't. No human does this, has ever done this. I didn't know what the pool would do, only that it hurt Krem badly. I thought— I thought if I let you in, and the pool killed me, it would send you back to the Fade so you couldn't hurt Merr— anyone else."

Merrill blushes, head ducking as the wisp bobs. "I understand," Tanna replies. "I will try harder to tell you when I do things. Or if I notice something has happened that I have not explained yet." She hesitates before finally asking, "but this is better, isn't it? Even if you have to change, you're alive."

"I don't— I don't know," she whispers. "Am I still me? I wasn't, when we left the Fade. I was you, but more human. I don't want to be that. I don't want to go away."

"You won't," Tanna says quickly. "I mean, we can, for a while, but mortals can't be that pure and spirits can't be that nuanced. Not for long. Over time, as we grow and blend more into each other, we can merge for longer but it's never truly permanent. Eventually, if our Bond is strong enough, we'll be able to share both memory and flesh perfectly but retain our own souls and wills."

"It sounds like most very close relationships, just... more so." Merrill shrugs a little. "I just mean, the longer you spend together, the more traits and quirks of a person you pick up. The more you understand and share with them. Tanna shares your body, so it's more extreme, granted. Especially that last bit."

"Merrill, promise me: if she's lying, if I go away... you'll kill me?"

A wave of pain washes through Marian, but it's laced with resigned acceptance. "I... I'll stop you. If— if I have to— I'm stop you," the elf forces out, eyes screwed tight. "I won't let you... hurt anyone like P— like that. I swear."

"Thank you," she sighs, and more of the tension flows out of her. "Hold me? I think... I think we need to sleep."

"Sleep is good," Merrill agrees, shifting around to let Marian join her. "Do you want to cuddle? Or should I keep my distance?" _I would really like to cuddle after all this, but I won't push._

Marian lays her head on Merrill's shoulder. "Don't... _touch_ me, but you can wrap an arm around me," she offers.

"Of course," Merrill agrees quickly. "Platonic cuddles only."

"Good night, my Love. Merrill. I am... I am very sorry for ruining your date," offers Tanna from the wisp.

"Yeah," sighs Marian. "Good night."

It feels like it takes hours for Marian to follow Merrill into slumber, but eventually she does. Ever since Bonding with Tanna, Marian's dreams have been... different. Sometimes she finds herself exploring the Fade with Tanna in her true form acting as a guide. Other times, she dreams normal dreams. Except that she either has perfect awareness and control of the dream or, upon waking, realizes that a clear and well-inclined hand had crafted an adventure or lesson for her. This, however, is new.

It's the Fade, at least it seems like the Fade. Green mists, an inverted City high up in the sky above her, fragments of mundane locales in illogical and chaotic configurationss; all hallmarks of the Fade that any mage worth their staff knows. The strangeness is in the fragmentary locale she finds herself overlooking. Caught in a small vale in the craggy landscape is a circle of finished black stone interrupted with three pools. Three very familiar pools. A storm surges around the vale, though the scouring rain and lightning seem to twist around her harmlessly. In the center of the vale are several figures; Tanna in her new spirit form and another shadowed figure on the ground at her feet. As Marian finds herself drifting close, she realizes that the one on the ground is actually two figures. A Sister in chantry robes but with purple wings and tail ripping through the back and... and herself.

The Marian doppelganger is passive, face slack and unresisting as the Sister molests her. Tanna meanwhile is shrieking denials and vile threats against the Sister. Every so often, the spirit tries to slash the Sister with her claws or channels a bolt from the surrounding storm but it simply passes through both of them harmlessly. Eventually Tanna slumps to the ground, weeping and broken. Before Marian can do anything but stare, everything rips apart and she's staring up at the ceiling of the guest room covered in sweat.

"Fuck," she whispers, staring up at the ceiling. "Fuck." She reaches up with two fingers, only then realizing she's wiping away tears.

* * *

In the morning, when Leliana goes to check on Garrett, she finds him trapped in bed; his twin curls against his side, her head on his shoulder, his large comforting arm wrapped around her. "Hey," he says quietly, smiling at her over top of Marian's shoulder.

"I suppose it's good I decided to walk the grounds last night, no?" the redhead whispers, smiling down at them. _They are adorable, almost enough to make me wish I had a sister myself. Josie is lovely but I doubt Garrett often wonders what his sister's lips would taste like after— Ahem._

"I'm just glad I noticed the switch," he jokes, but his face is more relaxed, his smile easy. It seems having his sister crawl in bed with him really has done his mood a world of good.

"Mrrn," said twin protests, into his bare shoulder.

Leliana's eyes dance with mirth as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, that would be awkward."

"Hey sleepy," says Garrett, in a teasing tone. "You ready to get up?"

"Nnn," she whimpers. "'afe here."

Garrett's smile is gone in an instant, his heart skipping a beat. Still, his tone is jovial, teasing: "Sure. Course you are. But my arm's gonna go to sleep."

"Good," she mutters. "arms 're stupid anyway."

"See, told'ya she's fine, Daisy," a deep voices rumbles from the doorway. Glancing over, Leliana snickers at seeing two heads peeking around the doorframe at very different heights.

"c'mon, sleepyhead, time to get up," sings Garrett, reaching to brush some hair out of her face. "Your friends are here."

"can't," she mutters, wiggling a little deeper under the blanket.

"Why not?"

"Naked," she mutters.

"So what, you're going to live in my bed forever? I don't have clothes for you either."

"yes," she declares, triumphant.

"Pretty sure none of us would mind if you went around naked," Bull informs her, grin broadening even more. After a moment, he glances down at the scowling elf. "You're just gonna bruise your elbow if you keep hitting me like that."

With a laugh, Leliana offers something a touch more helpful. "I got some clothes sent over for me— you'd fit into the dress I selected if you don't mind showing off your legs a touch."

"Nooo," she mutters, curling just a bit more under the blanket.

Moving slowly, Garrett sits up, tipping her off his arm into the bed. "Hah! There. You can nap here all you like, sleepyhead, but you'll have to do it alone." After a brief pause, he adds, "or, you could get up, put on Leliana's dress, and come have breakfast in the garden."

Marian clutches for purchase, grabbing for a shirt he's not wearing to tug him down with. "No," she mutters again.

"There's coffee," he adds. "And bacon."

"...maybe," she concedes.

Wiggling her way into the room, Merrill pads over to kneel next to Marian. "There could be kisses too," she coaxes her girlfriend.

"Sorry, I'm taken," mumbles Marian, a slight smirk playing across her lips. "By the cutest elf in the world."

"Oh noes," Merrill says sadly, trying not to grin. "Hmmm. I'll fight'er and claim you as my war prize."

"They are sickeningly cute," Leliana murmurs into Garrett's ear.

Garrett smirks. "It's a whole new side of her," he adds, not bothering to be exceedingly quiet.

"She's real scrappy," warns Marian, but she colors as she hears her twin. Finally, she sits up, clutching the quilt to her chest. "Alright, alright, I'm up."

Merrill pouts, glaring at Garrett for spoiling her fun. "Ooooh," she says, distracted by the sight of Marian's bare back and barely clad butt. "I think I'm motivated enough."

Laughing, Leliana stands. "Alright, menfolk out!"

"Why, it's Disaster Bi Power Hour, I'm sure your handsome friend is just loving the hell out of this," jokes Garrett.

Sounding curious, Bull asks, "show of hands, who's bi in here?"

Garrett raises his hand, then scowls at Marian. "Liar."

"Fuck you," she says happily, but raises a hand. "I just didn't want to drop my blanket."

Leliana raises her hand, then glances at Merrill. The elf shrugs a little. "Sometimes men are pretty but..." She shrugs again. _That one time didn't exactly fuel any interest, despite my hopes._ "Women for me."

"Next question, who in here is an absolute disaster?" asks Garrett, then immediately adds, "Marian keep your hand up, we all know you're a hot mess under that perfect exterior."

Merrill puts her hand up this time while Bull lowers his. "The only disaster here is when I want to be."

Garrett smirks at Leliana, noticing her hand still up. "Well alright then. Who wants mimosas?"

"Do they come with kisses? There's a pretty elf offering kisses but I'm willing to hear other offers," she replies with a saucy smile.

"Tell you what, I'll let you drink it from my cock," he teases.

"OH-KAY everyone out, I need to get dressed," says Marian, too loudly.

"Did he just offer to pee in our mouths?" Merrill asks with a disgusted face, one that Leliana is echoing.

"Pretty elf wins."

"Aw, shit, nevermind," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're right, that sounded way better in my head."

"I imagine it did, sweetie," Leliana says with a laugh. "Come on, let's get breakfast served up. Maybe once you're more awake, we can try coming up with a much better activity to do with your cock and my mouth. And maybe your mouth."

"Why don't you like your family again? So far, two for two awesome," Bull says with a grin.

Marian shudders. "First of all, ew, ew, ew; secondly, you're probably about to see why, because I doubt my luck is _that_ good."

A half hour of showers and changing later, everyone trickles downstairs. Bull gets down first of the visitors, finding the younger twins and Leandra already having brunch on the back patio. Leliana and Garrett arrive soon after, thankfully, giving everyone a very welcome escape from Leandra's not very polite reaction to seeing a qunari, especially one with horns (well, one and a third horns) ,in her home. It's when Marian and Merrill come down that things get _really_ bad.

"Merciful Maker!"

Leandra doesn't even notice the champagne flute rolling across the table or her chair falling to the ground as she stares at Marian with clear horror.

"Only me, Mother," Marian quips, with a tight smile.

Leandra doesn't seem to hear, taking a few steps back. "Carver, get your sister to the cars," she says, eyes locked on Marian. "Now her hand is raised, a sword to pierce the sun. With iron shield she defends the faithful, let chaos be undone," she prayers with an unsteady voice and a warding gesture.

_What is she doing? Those words don't make sense? No-one has a shield._

Merrill gasps softly, stepping closer to Marian and grabbing her hand.

Marian rolls her eyes, despite the sting. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they Who have taken His gift And turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."

_Now you're doing! What is that? It sounds pretty but stupid. What gift?_ Tanna huffs softly, though she takes care to keep her words low enough that it shouldn't make it too difficult to hear everyone else's voices.

"Mom! What're you doing! That's Marian!" Beth has also risen to her feet, looking mortified and furious both. Carver grabs for Beth's hand, not wanting to make a scene.

"What? But it has— look at its eyes! That's a demon!" Leandra protests. To her credit, despite her clear and obvious terror, she's moved between Marian and the twins.

_It's the Chant. Demons can't say it._ "Which verse do you want, Mother? I'm not a demon. I've had a magical mishap."

_Now her hand is raised, a sword to pierce the sun. With iron shield she defends the faithful, let chaos be undone,_ Tanna replies instantly, sounding deeply pleased. _And... I'll be quiet and let you focus. Ask if you need help? Please?_

"This is Marian, your daughter," Leliana says soothingly as she steps away from the stunned Garrett. "Mister Amell had them confirm it at the hospital. She's human and your daughter."

"Doctor Merrill Sabrae and I were with her on the expedition. The one in Antarctica. We managed to get back on our own after the Templar left us for dead," Bull says in a grave, somber tone. "But it really took it out of Marian, using that much magic to save us all."

Marian winces. _Maybe don't tell Mother I—_ "Just once," she admits. "I got us home through the Fade, I didn't otherwise cast much. I remember my scriptures, after all."

Garrett frowns. "What does it matter how much magic you cast, you're _alive_."

"All things in this world are finite. What one man gains, another has lost," Leandra explains automatically, Bethany mouthing it alongside her with an eyeroll for emphasis. "Magic is a gift from the Maker, only to be used for further His works. Any more than that is just the same as stealing from Him." She shakes her head, focusing. "Marian? It's... really you?"

Carver tugs on Beth's hand again, hoping to lure her away, up the stairs. When she doesn't budge the second time, he drops her hand, with a small, almost inaudible sigh.

"Yes, Mother. It's me."

As Beth steps closer to her twin to slip an arm around him, Leandra lifts a hand to her mouth. She stares another moment, then rushes towards Marian. "My baby girl!" she nearly wails, clearly intent on pulling Marian into a sobbing, very dramatic hug.

Marian takes a step back, hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Not that it stops Leandra one bit. "My baby girl, my baby girl," Leandra repeats... repeatedly. "Oh you're alive, you're alive. Oh thank the Maker for saving you." She continues to weep and wail for several minutes, making a real spectacle. And the worst part of all of it is that it's _sincere_ grief and relief both. She truly does mean what she's saying; at this moment, she loves her daughter and is overcome that she's come home safe.

And Marian can feel that thanks to her new gifts. Every second of it. Marian's shoulders climb toward her ears, her face twisting with disgust and discomfort. _Can you shut that off?!_ she nearly begs Tanna.

_I can dim it more but... umm. Oh! Or we could shut **her** off?_ the spirit suggests with shared revulsion. Thankfully, Marian can both see that Tanna is thinking about a sleep spell and how to cast it, the knowledge shoved over their Bond eagerly.

Before Marian can succumb to temptation, Bull clears his throat. "Missus Amell, maybe it would be well for you to lay down? To recover from this, uh, traumatic news. And maybe something to settle your nerves a smidge?"

"I'll fetch your special brandy, mother," Beth offers as she moves forward, tugging Carver along with her. Carver happily flees the room, double-time, before he can get so much as a hint of the same treatment.

Garrett, meanwhile, is edging toward the mimosas, desperate to get alcohol in his system, which means his heart breaks when his girlfriend grinds her heel into his foot. "Perhaps a walk of the grounds?" she asks him sweetly. Garrett offers Leliana his arm, escorting her toward the gardens a little faster than is polite.

As Leandra looks torn between Bull's suggestion and continuing her dramatics, Merrill sweeps in. Taking her arm, she thickens her accent as she starts rambling on about the banalities of the expedition while guiding her to the nearest lounger chair.

_Oh that's not a great idea,_ Marian thinks, but she's too busy shuddering to stop her. _I need a minute. Then I'll stop her._

Soon enough, Bethany returns with the 'special' brandy and a music player. Harp music fills the backyard and sedative laced brandy fills Leandra, both combining with the smooth patter from Merrill to send the older woman into a nap. "Fucking Andraste, she can be such a chore," Beth moans as everyone sneaks off.

"Sorry," Marian murmurs to Bull, head bowed. "I thought she'd be at least a _little_ better than that."

"Chaos, girl, how did she survive your childhood?" Bull asks bluntly. "I've been in your house, it has three stories. That's high enough. Might need to try it more than once but she's light."

Marian chuckles. "She's not usually that bad. That's about the worst of it. I haven't been her 'darling baby girl' since Beth could talk."

Beth winces a little, looking away. "Yeah... Have to admit, I kinda started to react when she called you that just now, thinking she meant me. But I'm not entirely surprised. She was— To be honest, she was actually pretty good about the whole 'Marian is dead' thing and how the Old Folks handled it."

"Old Folks?" Bull asks, frowning. _That wasn't peak? Damn._

"Fuck," sighs Marian. "I forgot I'm meant to be dead. What time are we all going over there? Maybe I should bring Bull."

_Oh. Oh shit._ "Umm. About that... Well, first, we're heading over at three. Mingle and bullshit for a couple of hours, dinner a six, some kind of show or concert at eight. But yeah, about the being dead thing, umm, so, uhh, the Major might have... been sort of, uh, creative? In how he publicized your manner of death."

Marian stares at her sister. "...Go on."

Beth swallows thickly. "He, uh, he put out an obit before Dad could. Saying you died... in a blizzard? And to make donations in lieu of flowers or whatever to his list of pet charities." _Which was longer than the part about you. And all but the militia vet group Chantry-run._

"Glad I didn't promise not to do anything to them," Merrill says brightly, eyes hard.

"That's... more accurate than the Annulment story," says Marian slowly. "I can work with that. I survived the blizzard due to quick thinking, but the Templar couldn't find me so I was missing, presumed dead."

That gets a stare from her little sister. "You're not— how are you not livid? They _lied_ about your death to save the Templar from embarrassment and consequences. They asked for money to be given to the Church! If it wasn't for Carver, I'd have set their house on fire with—" Beth seems to catch herself, adding in a mutter, "the internet can teach you anything."

Marian shrugs a shoulder. "What do you expect? They're still assholes about Carver, I don't really expect much."

"My favorite is the old styrofoam and gasoline trick. Mix in a little sawdust if you have to thicken it," Bull suggests. "Not as good as the real stuff but it's a good low budget replacement."

_I wish I didn't remember the time between, but I am very glad that I at least have my memories of Scelaeyricla. He was a very good parent_. She offers a few flickers of memories to Marian, wishing for her Love to be reassured that good parents exist and that they have at least one role model to use later.

"That's..." Beth sighs, rubbing her cheek. "Yeah, I guess. It just sucks."

"Please don't hurt my family," Marian sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"My family too," Beth says sweetly. "And a little fire doesn't seem unwarranted."

"It's not life or death. It's just disapproval. We can handle that, right?" Marian nearly begs.

_Garrett is still the cooler sibling_ , Beth thinks with an eyeroll. "Sure, sure. I guess it doesn't matter if you're just leaving again. I'm going to go find Carver," she says, turning away.

_What the fuck?_ Marian shakes her head. "Right. And you're leaving next week, too. We get through today and we're all home free."

_We'll be free to go back home?_ Tanna asks excitedly, visions of a jungle coating her words.

_No, it's— it's from a game, it means you're safe. Nobody can tag you out. Ah. Hurt you, I guess._ Marian shakes her head, offering up an image of her little flat in Oxford: messy, with teacups left out everywhere and books piled high, but comfortable, safe. A place nobody ever goes except her, not even Dagna.

_That looks cozy,_ Tanna comments. _Small for a family though. What are the little boxes everywhere?_

_Remind me later to teach you about books,_ Marian chuckles. _I don't have family, just me. I like it that way. Maybe we can get a bigger place with Merrill though._

It hits her, then, really hits her: the expedition is over. Merrill will be going back to Cambridge, in theory. Dagna will go to Oxford, and Marian will have to return to finish her thesis. Bull and the Chargers will go to their next job. Everyone's going to split up. A tear forms in her eye, and she brushes it away quickly, trying not to dwell.

"Marian?" Merrill asks softly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, just... I realized that the expedition is over. We're all going to go different directions soon. It's like graduating high school."

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," Merrill objects. "I mean, away from you."

"Job's not over," Bull agrees. "Remember that little promise we all made? About..." He glances around, then makes a sphere shape. "Our find?"

"I have no idea how we're going to go back for them," she admits. "But you're right. The job's not over yet. We can't leave them there." _And we need to talk about distributing them, after all. They're mine— they're yours, Tanna's. Tanna's children._

_Ours,_ Tanna insists. _Our children. Scelaeyricla would be glad that I found a worthy Love to raise his children with. We were so scared that they would be..._ Tanna shudders, pulling away from Marian as long remembered fear and pain wrack through her. Distant now, she sends a faint 'sorry' before sinking down as far as she can to spare Marian.

"Well, once Uncle Dude pays us, we can charter a— You alright?" Bull says, frowning.

Marian tries to still the shiver running down her spine. "Sorry," she says again. "I just— they're hers. Ours. Tanna's and mine. She sired them, with her previous host, and I'm their... their step-parent."

Bull stares a moment. "Oh. That's... heavy?"

"Step-Mother of Dragons?" Merrill offers, trying to make a joke of it.

Marian chuckles, but it's a little forced. "So they're mine. All of them. I can't let you take them. Sorry. I hope you can forgive me on that."

Bull holds up a hand. "Sorry, backtrack a moment. You're saying that Tantalizing Dreams raised dragons? Magic super-dragons? Was Bonded to one and everything? Does she _remember_ them?"

"Ye-es? Have I really not... said that?"

"Not as such, no," Merrill says wryly. "I think you broke Bull."

"Oh... Sorry," she mumbles.

Bull makes a strangled noise more suited to Dagna than himself. He swallows hard, then tries again. "That's— that's really interesting. And— and good to know."

"Bull, are you... Alright?" Asks Marian, timidly.

"Having a bit of a religious experience," he says faintly. He shakes his head vigorously. "Sorry, just... the implication of this is just— wow "

"...religious?"

The Iron Bull gives her an incredulous look, then seems to realize something. "Right, you could probably put what you know of Qunari history on half a sheet of notebook paper," he mutters. "Yes, religious. The last time a mortal was visited by a spirit of the First Children, the most high and most awful of the Maker's get, and given the knowledge and wisdom of those people was this guy named Mohammed. You might be familiar with his work; the Qun?"

Marian stares at him. And stares. Finally, she shakes her head, turning away. "Nope!" she says brightly.

"Can you 'nope' that sort of thing?" Merrill asks with bemusement, eyes wide even for her.

"She can try but, uh, not really?" Bull winces, rubbing his broken horn. "I mean, the Ben-Hassad will eventually find out about the dragons. And then they'll try to buy or trade for them. If you refuse, they'll keep trying but with less, uh, gentleness. Only way I can think of to stop them would be telling them about Tanna and her being what she is, who she is. Which then leads to Second Prophet territory."

"Nope," she says again. "I didn't hear this. This isn't happening. Nope. Later me can deal with it."

Bull starts to object but Merrill cuts him off with a hard glare. "That's very understandable. We have time after all and it's not like Marian doesn't have enough to deal with at the moment. Got it?" Despite the sweet and soothing tone she uses for Marian's sake, the eldritch gleam in her eyes gets a rapid nod from the only male present.

"Good," she concludes. "Now let's get some breakfast."

* * *

There was coffee on a tray by Varric's bedside: black, like he takes his first cup, with an omelette containing chunks of leftover barbeque pork mixed in. For a moment he goes to thank Garrett— but it's the blonde boy standing at attention behind the tray, watching Varric wake.

_System check initiated._  
 _Linking to network 639sh$+#-29ajj9 ['home']_  
 _Running active security sweep_.

Varric frowns slightly as he regards the tray, then turns his gaze to the blond boy. "Thank you for the service, kèhù jī Cole."

"Of course, Zhǔjī San." He bows, waiting for new orders.

_Primary absent from house._   
_Accessing tracker program._

"Status report."

"The building is quiet. The canines have been fed, floors have been swept. We are alone in the building." A brief pause, and then, "your orders are all that remain."

_Primary located at Secondary Malcolm's residence._   
_Secondaries Bethany and Carver also present._   
_Calendar: birthday for Secondaries Bethany and Carver._

"Report on events, observations and actions taken during my absence. Also, detail current standing orders."

"Current standing orders: protect Garrett. Garrett Hawke is important. Protect Zhǔjī San. Do not erase memories from Zhǔjī San. Do not observe sexual relations without invitation. Alert Zhǔjī San to Intruders that are intercepted."

_Security sweep complete._   
_Accessing network fjsh73($jdj387"!848j [StoneSure]_

"Continue listing prior orders."

"Listing is complete."

Varric studies Cole for a moment. "Explain; why is order list truncated?"

"Orders given by Zhǔjī yī tái and Zhǔjī liǎng tái were cleared by Zhǔjī yī tái. Orders to protect Zhǔjī San were given."

"Context or explanation given?"

"None. Orders are occasionally rescinded to ensure no unexpected conflicts between orders arises. Orders were rescinded, and I acted upon your orders to protect you and Garrett by aiding in your extraction efforts."

"Is there a way I can prevent you from getting or acting on new orders from Zhǔjī yī tái and Zhǔjī liǎng tái?"

"No. Their orders override yours." A pause. "Probably."

"At current, what orders do you have from them?"

"Zhǔjī yī tái has ordered me to protect Zhǔjī San."

_Possible exploit identified._

"Further orders from Zhǔjī yī tái or Zhǔjī liǎng tái could cause harm to Zhǔjī San, as proven by historical evidence. As such, opening yourself to further orders from either Zhǔjī could cause you to disobey that standing order."

"Not Zhǔjī liǎng tái. His orders do not override hers." Still, Cole hesitates. "...Harm was done to Zhǔjī San. Great harm. I am... I feel sorrow."

_Systems errors detected._

"Harm is irrelevant. My current degree of functionality is sufficient for now. Back to orders; I am reinforcing the order from Zhǔjī yī tái to protect me, with the clarification that further orders from them poses a danger to me."

"...understood," says Cole, slowly. "Permission to speak freely?"

A long pause. "Allowed."

"You are not well. And you... you hurt Garrett. You told me that Garrett is important but you hurt him. Chased him away. It... I can't sense you anymore. It frightens me."

_System Errors compounding (crash likely)._   
_Corrective action required._   
_Proposed course of action: end interaction, divert focus._

"Opinion acknowledged. I need to work now. You're dismissed."

Cole's expression falters, and he looks down. "I see," he says quietly. "Please be well soon." _I'll tell him about his letter later._

_Social analysis: interaction harmful to planned progression with Unit Cole._   
_Attempting correction._

"You did well. I am not displeased with you. Continue to guard the house, with priority on Garrett."

"...Garrett isn't here," says Cole, hesitantly. "Garrett left you."

"He will return."

_Alternatives unacceptable._

"...Are you going to call him?"

"No. I will be attending the birthday celebration for the twins'. I will see him there."

"...does he know that?"

Varric considers that a moment. "I have attended previous celebrations in my role as their godparent. He should expect such an action."

"...I shall attend. To protect you."

"Acceptable," Varric allows, turning his attention inward.

_Downloading priority alerts._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Beth and Carver's birthday! Which means time to have a party with family. A nice, uneventful birthday party. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: transphobia, family troubles, suicidal ideation

Malcolm pauses with his thumb over the send button, dreading the call he has to make. Still. But with an hour before the party, it's quite literally now or never, and it's his daughter who will suffer if he doesn't make the call.

He hits send, waits, identifies himself: "This is Malcolm. Can I speak to The Major?"

"I will ask if sir is available for your call," the servant replies with disdainful politeness. The line goes silent, then there's a click and Malcolm is treated to some lovely instrumental church music during his wait.

 _Of course._ He sits, then lays back onto his bed, waiting, the phone tucked into the crook of his neck. After a moment he sits up, grabs his Bluetooth earpiece, and switches to it so he can sit at his computer and begin composing an email. _What to say that doesn't sound conspicuous in a court of law..._

Malcolm gets to wait more than five minutes before the music cuts off. "Time's a wastin, boyo. What's so damn important you're calling during the girls' birthdays?"

"Twins," he corrects automatically. "I wanted to let you know I'm bringing five children to the party: both sets of twins and Maribell."

There's a long pause. "Explain yourself," the Major says coldly.

"The templar lied about the Rite of Annulment. We found Marian alive when the police raided the Gallows. She's had some strange magic done to her, she looks a little different, but we ran a blood test and she came back human, matching my and Leandra's DNA."

"You must really think me a fool," the Major says with a chuckle. "You bring that little demon-tainted abomination anywhere near my home or my grandchildren and I'll have you back in a Circle before sundown. If you're lucky and they're not hurt."

A pause. "Excuse me?" he says, coldly.

"You think I didn't catch wind of that— that _disaster_ your harlot organized?" The Major snorts loudly. "'course people let me know what's what in my city. Know all about your recent doings, your little coup d'etat. Got word from the hospital this morning about your little ploy. It won't stand, boyo, won't stand at all."

"Run your own tests, if you like. My _daughter_ is alive and I will not have you treat her with anything less than the respect she deserves." _And who the hell is he calling a harlot?!_

"Like blood magic couldn't flummox a blood test," he scoffs. "Garrett is going to inherit, after he's made his way back to a proper path, no matter what tricks you think you have up your sleeve."

"I'm not disputing that. I don't think she even wants to inherit, but you'd have to ask her." _Frankly I think Carver might be a better fit; boy's got a good head on his shoulders, even if he never speaks._

"Of course, of course," the Major says with a heavy dollop of condescension. "Nevertheless, I think it best for all involved of that... person... were to quietly go back to wherever you dug her up."

"I'm not handing _my daughter_ back to the Templar."

"Then send her away, out of sight of the media," is the cold reply. "If she attempts to go public or use the Amell name..."

"You'll what? Murder your own flesh and blood?"

"Neither of you are my flesh and blood. And killing an abomination is never murder. Hah! Not even sure it should be called killing."

"She is, whether you believe it or not. I'm not letting you hurt my children anymore, _Mr Amell_."

"That the way you want to go, boyo? I raised you up and I can bring you down just as easily."

"No. You cannot. My children are everything— you can only take my money."

"Ha! You really think I can't have you run out of this city if I wanted?" the Major crows. "No, I think it's time for the 'Genius of Kirkwall' to take a long vacation. Travel to Europe and stay for a few years. I'll take Garrett to hand, show him the ropes properly and get him ready to take the helm."

"We'll see," he says, simply.

"He'll do what's right for the family," the Major says confidently. "I'll inform the company about your vacation so don't embarrass yourself by trying to get into work."

"And if he doesn't? You'll murder him too?" asks Mal, but his stomach twists. _If I don't take Marian somewhere safe, they'll murder her. If I leave, they'll go for Garrett. I have to trust him to know what to do, how to keep them at arms length._

"He won't betray his family. Now. Where shall I arrange for your tickets to take you? France? Britain?"

"Don't bother. I'll arrange my own travel."

"It's no trouble at all. And I'd prefer to be sure it's done... properly."

"I'll send you an itinerary. I'm sure you're very busy."

"Very well," the Major says with a long-suffering sigh. "If you insist on clinging to your pride and depleting your money, then who am I to argue? In fact, as a show of good faith, I'll cosign the release of poor Marian's trust to be used in your travels."

"Fine," he says, instantly. _I'll put her trust back in a new trust, for her._ "Have a pleasant afternoon."

"I'm sure we will. Be sure the girls are on time." Before Malcolm can reply, the line clicks off.

"They're not girls, you asshole," he says to the dead line, before sighing and hitting speed dial two. "Varric, it's Mal, we have a situation..."

* * *

Marian had gone upstairs to change into her nice dress for the party, after fishing another one out from the attic; when she comes back out, she's clean, but still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "Change of plans," she announces. "We're going back to the beach house. Sorry Beth." It's Carver's turn in the shower, but Beth is an eager student of Wicked Grace, and Bull and Merrill are happy to teach her.

Bull eagerly tosses his cards on the table. "Entire lot of you are fucking card sharks. You're sixteen!"

Beth beams at Bull as she drags over the sizable pile of chocolate chips to add to her own pile. Which matches Merrill's, more or less, but is roughly a third bigger than the poor merc's. "Seventeen, thank you," she chirps, the frowns as she twists to look at her sister. "Marian?"

"I am not going to this party," she repeats. "Neither is Dad. We're heading to the beach house. Now go talk your brother into wearing a suit."

"What? But you— You _just_ got here and—" _Wait, did she say Dad is bailing too?_ Beth straightens up. "What's wrong? Is it the Templar again?" Her voice shakes a little on the word, eyes flicking up towards the bathroom.

She frowns. "Seems when he called to say I was coming, he was told not to bring me. And if I'm not welcome, he won't go either."

A whole slew of emotions rush over Beth's face as she processes this. "Then... then we won't go either."

"It's _your_ birthday, Beth, you can't skip."

"It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to," she says firmly, a pout on her lips, heart slowing back down.

Marian rolls her eyes. "Cry your brother into a suit."

"I'd rather hang out with you guys."

"Look," says Marian, "I didn't come to my party and now look, banned for life. You should stay on their good side while you can."

"I don't think this was all because you skipped your party," Merrill says pointedly.

"Could be. Dad didn't say," she admits. "Still."

"I don't care," Beth says, swallowing, lip trembling. "I'm not going to just— just cast you off."

"Beth," she say with an exasperated smile. She reaches up to touch her sister's cheek. "You're not. I know that. You just need to protect yourself. We'll talk later. Call me?"

Seeing Beth starting to surrender, Bull tosses a little more on the scale. "Look at it like this; stay close to the assholes, keep your ears open and pass on anything you hear to your dad or sister. Good intel is priceless."

"Fine!" Beth says finally. "But don't even think you're getting out of celebrating with us, got it?" She moves in to pull Marian close. "I thought I lost you before we could... Please don't fade away again? Please?"

Marian plants a kiss on her sister's cheek. "When you graduate, I'll be there. We'll go on a trip. You can move to England if you want. Study at Oxford. I don't know. We'll work it out."

"You'd better," Beth mutters as she leans against her sister. _So weird, her being taller than Carver. Almost as tall as Garret even. I'm so damn short._ "I really missed you."

"Really?" she asks, faintly amused. "It's not like we were all that close before."

"We used to be," Beth says stubbornly and a touch untruthfully. "And we should be. You're my only sister, we should be close. Who else can I get womanly advice from? Mom?" _Eventually I'm going to have the balls to ask about being a lesbian. Eventually._

"If you need advice, you can call me," she assures her sister. "But... I don't know. Do you ever feel like you have to leave to be yourself? That if you stay you'll be beaten into shape, no matter what it takes?"

 _Constantly_. Despite that, she musters an insincere smile. "Of course not; I'm the good child," she says in a bright, sunny voice that doesn't hide the bitterness in her eyes.

"Two more years," says Marian, reaching to hug Beth close with one arm. "Then you're free. But I can't come back for you, Bethie. I can't. It's bad enough I— I just wouldn't make it, if I did."

"I know," Beth says softly. "It's way more dangerous here for you." She twists a little to stare at Bull. "When are you leaving? You're staying until she leaves, right? I have some mo—"

"Good on you, missie, but it's fine. Uncle Dude already picked up the tab, and your dad is chipping in to," Bull assures her quickly, though he takes that as permission to eat some of her winnings she hasn't gathered up yet. "Besides, Bahith is basically one of mine now. Not going to abandon her now."

Marian blushes. "Thanks, Bull," she says, with a shy smile.

That's when Carver descends the steps, hanging awkwardly in the doorway to the parlor. He's not the most delicate, dainty lad; he's still growing, however, and he's lean, which is what saves him from looking ridiculous in a tea-length gown. He's clearly wearing Bethany's spanx, which pull in his waist almost enough to give him the semblance of curves; he's wearing panty-hose, and the dress has mid-length sleeves to cover some of his developing muscle. He's even done makeup to match, trying to soften the lines of his face, the jaw. The dress is white, with little cherries printed on it, and he has a shawl to match, shifting his weight from one heel-clad foot to the other.

Bull cocks his head to the side. _Not bad on the outfit but damn that doesn't suit him._ "Oh son, no. Some guys can do drag and pull it off but you're not one of them. Unless you're going for shock or humor."

Beth's eyes widen and she starts to scold Carver but falls silent to gape at Bull.

Carver's eyes well up with tears. _I'm a freak, a monster— I'm ruining my body with these meds, I can't—_ He wipes at his eyes, smearing the eyeliner. "Sorry," he whispers. "I—"

"Carver," says Marian firmly. "Look at me. No. You're not going to wear a dress no matter what they said to you."

 _Huh? Why would— oh. Oh! Umm._ "I really hate your grandparents," Merrill mutters in elven. "There's still time, maybe you two can go help him change into something more flattering?"

"Yes," Bethany says firmly. "Carver, we're seventeen now and neither of us are wearing a dress to this. I don't even want to go, so at least wear something casual with me? For support? Just some jeans and a button down maybe?"

Marian flinches. "Or, tell you what, let's go pick out something maybe business casual? A button-down and black jeans or something?"

"They s-s-said I sh-should—" Carver begins, swallowing as he lowers his gaze. "I g-got an email..."

"Well, they're assholes," Bethany snaps. "If you wear a dress, I'm going in a bikini."

"That's one idea," Bull says with a soft cough to mask a laugh. "Tell you what— this is some kind of super formal party, yeah?" At Marian's nod, he grins. "I got a tailor I go to in town; if he can whip up a suit for me in an afternoon, he can get you something smart looking real fast. My birthday gift, so it would be rude not to wear it, right?"

"I— I guess," Carver mutters, blushing a bit as he shifts his weight again. _They're all being so nice about it— but as soon as I get to this party..._

"Yeah, okay, that's probably a good plan," Beth says begrudgingly. _It would have been hilarious to see Grand-mère's face if I showed up in string and fabric swatches. Fucking stupid, but hilarious._

"Maybe Marian and I can head back to the beach and Bull can go to the party with the twins? Just to be safe," Merrill suggests, glancing around.

"I... don't know," says Marian, frowning. "Is it more likely they'll raid the party, or that they'll use the fact I'm not at the party to go after me? Maybe we should ask Krem to accompany them to the party."

"That's not a bad idea," Bull says after a moment. _Might be good for them to meet for other reasons too._

"Good. Now go put some pants on and spare our eyes, Carver," says Marian, firmly.

* * *

As big and expensive as the Hawke-Amell household is, the Amell Household is grander and more elegant still; thirty cars park in the extensive driveway without being crowded, and the extensive gardens leading up to the house rival the back gardens of the Hawke-Amell house. There is an actual string quartet in the front parlor, and a second in the back gardens; there is an open bar with a bartender, there are waiters circulating trays of canapes, there are strangers in outfits that cost tens of thousands all gathered to celebrate The Major's life and works.

And also, his granddaughters' birthday.

The pictures set out to decorate the place feature the twins as children, both dressed in gowns, at a stage where they are both adorable and sweet enough to excuse how out of date the photos are.

Beth, Carver, Garrett, Leandra, and Gamlen arrive just a touch late, as is expected— they can be greeted upon entry by all the guests, without having to sit around waiting before the guests arrive. Carver's suit is elegant and lined with silk, as is expected of an Andrastaen, and Beth wears a gown in matching red and black, making them a well-suited pair as she enters on his arm. Garrett wears a suit as well, Juanita on his arm; Krem and Stitches follow behind, dressed as bodyguards.

Dressed in pale blue silk trimmed with silver threading, Juanita is several cuts above her normal mousy if attractive work look. She's also carrying three more knives and two more guns than she normally bothers with at work, as well as having two small flashbang grenades disguised as earrings. Not that she's expecting anything, exactly, but she's feeling a smidge protective of Garrett thanks to recent events. Her eyes linger on the pictures and she sniffs a little. "Your grandparents are something else, aren't they?" she whispers to her boyfriend.

And she's not the only one whispering; the group's entrance to the party does not go unnoticed for even a second. A wave of murmurs fills the room as their introductions are called out. Strangely, it's Garrett that most of the focus seems to be on, not the birthday twins. Gamlen, escorting his sister the same as the younger set of twins, preens a little at the attention. He's also wearing a new suit, though his is a flashy white and gold number. "Let's find your grandparents and get thing started," he says, bowing and waving.

"Smile for the cameras," Garrett murmurs, spying a few discreet photographers— likely reporters, working to cover the event for the society pages.

"Least we don't have an eel up our asses," Beth mutters darkly to herself. Seeing the looks from her siblings, she shrugs. "They used to do that to show horses, to 'pep them up' or something. Wiki-walk."

Thankfully Leandra and Gamlen hadn't heard her, so the group heads over to the throne room to find the Major and his wife. It's not really a throne room, of course, but it's very close to one. A second dining room that doubles as a conference room, there's a thirty foot long maplewood table down the center with another, more grandly carved, table at the head for the 'elite' to sit at. The Major is holding court there with his wife at his side, along with the Viscount, some of their old military buddies, the family priest Winston... and a grim, severe looking man wearing a suit with a Seeker tabard and a tracker bracelet on one wrist. There's a guard standing behind the Seeker, one clad in the Viscount's livery, but he looks more bored than attentive.

"Ah! Leandra, Gamlen, come greet your mother!" Major Aristide calls out upon seeing them approach. Looking radiant and elegant, Leandra glides the rest of the way to the table to kiss her mother's cheek.

"The Major, and Gramma Beth-ann," says Garrett softly, as he escorts Juanita into the throne room.

"That's Seeker van Reeves," Juanita whispers back, eyes narrowing. "He was arrested at the Gallows." _Why the fuck is here, at a birthday party for teenagers?_

Silently, Beth reaches over to take her brother's hand. "Deep breaths. Act confident. This is exactly how we're supposed to be."

"mm-hmm," whimpers Carver, nodding just a little. _This is going to be a disaster. I'm Carver, not Carol. I'm Carver Hawke. I can do this._

Tightening her grip for a few seconds, Bethany allows Carver to led them over to their grandparents. Bethany dips into a curtsy, her twin bowing gracefully despite the awkwardness of his delayed puberty. "Grandfather, Grand-mère, your home is lovely as always. And I _adore_ the musicians you've selected, absolutely delightful."

"Thanks for all this," says Carver, his voice quiet, hoarse.

Major Astride purses his lips, giving Carver a glower. "Not thankful enough clearly," he grumbles.

He reddens a little. "I am. Thankful. It's lovely. A very lovely party."

"Girls," says Beth-ann, warmly. "You've grown so big. Poor taste in clothing, but certainly larger."

"Oh Grand-mère," Beth says with a gay laugh. "Can you not forgive me for nudging Carver into an Italian style suit? I know you favor your heritage but the lines of that cut flatter him so, it would be a disgrace to put him in anything else!"

"Do nudge him onto South Beach next— you're both growing like weeds. Marienne can only work so much magic with drape and length." She laughs, as if she is teasing, but there's an offended edge to her voice.

"Not like Garrett here," the Major adds, looking past the twins. "Clear to see someone is finally doing a proper forty and five each day."

 _Please, as if you ever did forty push-ups and a five kilo run each day, even while active. I'll strip naked and walk home if you could prove you did even half that regularly,_ Leliana thinks with a mental eye roll.

Smile growing forced, Beth still tries to play nice. "La, I can be quite lazy but Carver's position on his teams keep him very active. He made starting line this year you know. Varsity of course."

"It's all-right for _men_ , you know, but us girls can't afford to be too... muscular," says Beth-ann, looking pained by the continued back and forth.

"Right, so Carver and I should be workout buddies," Garrett says firmly, stepping up to offer a handshake to The Major. "Good to see you again, sir."

"And the same to you, my boy, same to you. Ah, my manners; have you had the honor of being formally introduced to Marty? Well, Viscount Dumar to you," his grandfather says with a roaring laugh. The Viscount nods as he wipes his hands clean of a trifle and then offers it. "I don't believe we have, no."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," says Garrett, shaking his hand. _The Viscount!?!!? Andraste's tits!_ "Ah, this is Juanita, a close friend of mine from work."

"It's an honor to met you all," Juanita says, dipping into a curtsy and flashing a doe-eyed smile at them. Both men reply with barely hidden appraisal and the Major winks slyly at his grandson.

"Pleasure is mine," Dumar says, taking her hand to kiss.

Spying the younger twins making a hasty retreat, Garrett flashes a warm smile, hoping to continue distracting the grandfolks long enough for the pair to get free. "I'm sure you've heard my new project's gone into effect this week," he continues.

"New project?" the Viscount asks curiously.

Harrumphing, the Major sighs. "Boy has a clever mind, but a soft heart. Too soft I'd wager, but perhaps there's _some_ merit to the idea."

"Now, now. Who do you think are buying the latest Amell Phones? People like the workers at StoneSure. There's never a downside to expanding your customer base, after all." He smiles his best charming smile.

"And yet there are some that refuse to push into new markets," the Major says, head shaking sadly, as if he hadn't just insulted Garrett's father. "Still, you're young and still able to learn. Which does remind me..." He rises to his feet, patting his wife's shoulder as he does so. "Follow me Garrett, I've been meaning to have a talk with you of late, grandfather to grandson." He catches the younger man's eyes and leans in to add in a low voice, "Lord to heir, you could say."

 _Oh. Oh no_. Garrett's smile grows just a bit fixed, but it could be written off as nerves; he turns to Leliana, asking her quietly, "Grab me a drink, would you? I'll just be a moment." Then he follows his grandfather to his study, stomach churning.

Aristide leads Garrett to his study, a richly appointed room that smells of leather, cigar smoke and expensive cologne. There's only a few bookshelves, which are filled with leather bound and gold embossed books, as most of the decorative space is used up in military paraphernalia and hunting trophies. Heading to his desk, the Major runs a hand over a globe resting on the corner in a clearly habitual movement. It's a very fancy piece that shows only national borders made from carved gemstone and precious ores. China is made from jade, the Qunari lands from silver. Tevinter is some glossy black stone, onyx or obsidian most likely. Areas controlled by the Chantry are, of course, made from gold. The ocean is a light blue stone and everywhere else brass or copper.

Sitting, he pulls out a bottle of amber drink and some snifters. "Have a seat, lad. You smoke?"

"No, sir. Gotta keep my lungs healthy," he says, moving to take a seat.

"Bah, listening to your mother too much no doubt. Just like _her_ mother. Nothing wrong with a man having a cigar from time to time," he grumbles, sounding good natured and almost playful for once. He pours them both a good two fingers of what Garrett is fairly sure is a very fine whisky and pushes one to his grandson. "You're nearly twenty-five, lad, and it's time to set aside your wild years." He holds up a hand to prevent Garrett from protesting. "I realize you've taken more than just a few steps down that path but it's time for more." He winks. "Which is not to say you can't have a bit of fun on the side. No harm in a bit of... ginger, just keep it discreet."

 _No. Maker, no. Please._ "What did you have in mind?"

"This little bit of, mmmh, playing about at StoneSure is well and fine, I suppose, but it's time to get your feet wet for real. Starting next week, I'll have you come in with me to work and show you the ropes. Really get you into the thick of things."

"Sure. Of course." He takes a deep breath. "I'm not ready to get married yet," he warns. "But I can switch companies. No problem." _It'll be less painful that way._

Sensing weakness, Aristide presses harder. "Good, good. Shame about the marriage... did you know the Viscount has a niece only a few years your junior? Lovely young girl, a real lady of fine breeding and decorum. Still, if you're not ready, I suppose you're not ready. It's just your grandmother worries about you taking too closely to the bachelor life." He takes a sip of his whisky, then snaps his fingers as if having a sudden inspiration. "Hah! Old man's still got it; you should come and visit for a while. Let her fuss and see you, make sure your manners are shipshape and curb any... wildness."

"I—" _would rather die. But... Varric... and it's not like I want to live at home either..._ "suppose that could be arranged. Let me talk it over with my folks."

"It's all been arranged already," the Major says with a smug air. 

"Oh..." he says, faintly. _So much for pretending he just came up with the idea._ "With the Viscount's daughter, too?"

"Niece. But no, with you starting a new job and moving in, I think you have enough on your plate for now."

"Ah," he manages, and damn if his shoulders don't slump. _There's that, at least. Only most of the walls closing in, not the roof and floor too._ He takes a sip of the whiskey for fortitude. "So what position do you want me in?"

"For now, you'll just be shadowing me while I see where you stand. But in time... well. In time, there's an office at the very top waiting to have your name on it."

"In time," he repeats, numbly. _Not very much time. And it's time to leave Varric, of course— because you can't have the head of Amell and the head of StoneSure dating. Conflict of interest, feels nepotismy._ "Of course."

 _'Do you want to get married? Then say no.'_ How foolish those words seem now, staring down the barrel of hard reality. _I should man up and tell him no._ "What if I'm not ready for this either?"

The Major leans back in his seat, studying Garrett. "Not ready?" he asks mildly, eyes hard.

"What if I let you down?" he suggests. "I've only been working at StoneSure for a short time— what if I'm not prepared adequately?"

"That's why you'll be shadowing me. A few months of having your hand held should bring you right along."

"Only a few months? Don't most prepare for years?" he manages to squeak, though he drowns it with a longer swallow of whiskey a moment later.

"You're an Amell, you'd do fine," Aristide says firmly. "And I'm not ready to step down just yet, lad. You'll be given duties after those months, real ones, to start pushing you."

 _So that's it, then. I do this. Or I don't, and I just vanish into the night._ "I understand, sir. I won't let you down."

"See that you don't. Been disappointed a lot by family lately. It's becoming quite the problem." He pauses, then finishes carefully, "with you finally growing up and undergoing this training, I'm afraid I won't have much time to spend with the twins. But I'm sure they'll understand, don't you think? Beth has her clubs, and Carver his sports. They'll keep busy, just like you."

"I understand, sir," he says, nodding. "I'm sure they'll be heartbroken to lose your attention, but needs must for the good of the family."

"I'll glad we've come to this understanding," his grandfather says, rising. "I'm sure you'll be able to arrange things so you can move in next weekend and start work the following Monday?"

"Of course." _Why not? It's not like Varric needs me._ Garrett downs the rest of his drink, puts down the glass, and rises, shaking his grandfather's hand. "Happy to oblige." _I wonder if I can sneak off and borrow one of Gramps' cars. Screw him over instead of my dad._

He follows his grandfather out of the study, looking a little pale but still smiling, and looks for Leliana right away. And finds her: standing next to Varric.

His heart skips a beat. _Damn, traitorous heart._ The bottom drops out of his stomach. _I can't. Not right now._ Then, with barely any real notice how he got there, he's heading out to the back gardens, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. _The garage. Where's the garage._

He doesn't see the person that grabs him, pulls him into small gap between a hedge and a brick wall. He feels her, smells her, first. Then Leliana— and it's Leliana's eyes, not Juanita's— boring into his own. "Talk." _I've never seen you like this. I've seen you broken and lost and I've seen you questioning your life, but not blended like this. Not this bad._

He shakes his head, closing his eyes to flee the intensity of hers. "Car," he manages.

She only hesitates a moment before nodding. "Alright, lover," she whispers, kissing each eye gently, then his brow. "Trust me?"

"Always," he murmurs. Then he shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "No. No, it— I have to stay here. I can't run away."

She sighs. _My brave, loyal, idiot_. "Fine. But hold me? Talk to me. We can afford to slip off for a while, it's not your birthday after all."

He takes a shuddering breath; as he lets it out, he makes a small, strangled noise, leaning forward to rest his head on her shoulder. "He wants me to move in, Monday."

"Move in? Where?" Her eyes widen unseen. "With him? Why? You're in your mid twenties!" _Which does admittedly bother me, but it wouldn't be weird for you to be eight years older so... And it is amusing that you have a thing for your elders._

"The noose is closing in," he whispers, then shudders. _Idiot. She won't know what you mean._ "He wants me to study under him, take over the company."

"And do you want that? To take over AmelTech?"

"Have to." He swallows hard.

"Why?"

"He'll hurt Carver."

"I... see. You're sure?" Leliana asks quietly, eyes shadowed and flat.

Nearby, a blond boy hears an empty voice whisper a command into his mind. [Remove the threat to my Primary at the earliest timing that will not unduly implicate any Priority subjects.]

Garrett just nods, choking back a small, strangled sob. "I can't, Lels, I can't do this, I can't— I have to go, let me go," he whispers.

"No," she says simply, starting to sway from side to side. "I can't. I won't let you do this alone."

"I can't do it at all— everything's fucked up, Varric hates me now, I don't want to be controlled anymore, let me go, let me die free," he whispers, hot tears drenching her shirt.

"That's not freedom. That's just letting fear control you," Leliana whispers back, kissing his temple. "Let me help you fight this. And Varric doesn't hate you."

"I just want to be myself," he whimpers. "I just want to be free. I love him, Leliana. And he just sees me as... I don't know. Incompetant. Useless. And now it's over, and I can't, I'm not ready for it to be over. They're going to take StoneSure away from me and Varric and you and make me someone I'm not."

"Why do you think Varric thinks you're useless?" Leliana presses, focusing on what she thinks is the worst of the things hurting Garrett.

"He won't let me help. He pushes me away."

Sighing, she starts running her finger through his hair. "He always has, since I first met him almost two decades ago." Her lips curve briefly. "Which is a story I should share someday, but not now. He's let you closer than anyone I have ever known, even your father. I— Perhaps his imprisonment has scared him back into the worst of his behavior."

"He let me touch him," whimpers Garrett. "He let me see his scars, the ones he lets nobody see. And then... and then I failed him. I let him be taken. And now he won't even admit anything's wrong."

"Gary, you didn't—" Leliana sighs again. "It wasn't your fault. You're not his bodyguard or on his security team. It wasn't your fault, just like it wasn't his fault when you were taken. And you helped get him back."

"But he does blame me. He does. He shut me out, completely. He didn't even— he hasn't called or anything."

"He asked about you," Leliana says quietly. "That's what we were talking about. He was... off. More reserved than he has been since— since you started as his assistant. But he asked about you, in detail."

"What did he— what did he want to know?" croaks Garrett, swallowing hard.

"Everything," Leliana says wryly. "He wanted to check on your diet, your sleeping, your mental state, your general health, your interactions with your siblings, with me, what you've been doing to pass the time. Everything. He was... intense about it. Judging my oversight and care of you. It was... overly clinical. Far too detailed and bizarrely personal to be just duty but as if he was afraid to be involved. Hence my theory on him being hurt by his capture and handling it badly. I— I half think he might be afraid that— that you might not want him."

Garret takes a deep breath, then another. "Okay," he says quietly. "Let's circulate another hour, then go back to his place. I'll— I'll talk to him." _Break it off properly._

"Can we stay here just a little longer?" Leliana asks quietly. "I am... The two of you are not the only one that is having a bad time of late," she confesses.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her toward him. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Of course."

Leliana rests against him for a few moments, then a few minutes. Just holding him close, being held back. _I love you, Gary Hawke._ Pulling her armour back around her, Juanita finally steps back and offers a shy smile. "Ready?" she asks, offering one hand while artfully mussing her hair and dress to imply a more 'acceptable' reason for their disappearance, at least in regards to Garrett's reputation.

* * *

By the time they return to the party, everyone's migrated to the throne room; Beth and Carver are seated at the High Table, with the rest of the guests milling about watching them open presents. Garrett slips into the back, smiling at the pair, holding Juanita's hand tightly, as they continue opening their new gifts.

As Garrett settles into his spot, he notices his grandfather staring at him. The Major's frown fades to a slightly chiding look as he takes in Juanita's appearance and he gestures at someone nearby. The servant pulls out a gift out from a nearby trolley, where Garrett can see two gifts, and takes just the one over to Carver.

"This one is from me," Aristide says loudly, a pompous smile in place, as the gift is handed to Carver. As the young man somewhat nervously opens it, he's shocked to see a set of very high quality shaving tools. "Same type I've been using since I was a young man," he explains with a sharp nod. "High carbon steel in the blade and genuine ivory for the handle. The aftershave and lather are imported from France. None finer in the world, I'll tell you that for sure. Need to be careful with it, mind you. You nick yourself with that blade and you won't notice till you see the red."

Carver's eyes shine with unshed, masculine tears as he looks up at his grandfather. "Thank you," he says clearly, nodding. "I'll make good use of it."

Beth gapes a little, but recovers quickly. "It's wonderful sir," she agrees, giving her twin a one-armed hug.

The Major nods graciously. "Yes, yes. But of course that's just from me," he adds, gesturing at a pair of boxes wrapped in gold lame fabric. "Those are from your Grand-mère and I both. The one with a silver ribbon is for Carver, the white for Bethany." Bethany sets aside the expensive perfume collection from her grandmother to focus on the new present. She carefully unwraps it, making a note to try and get the fabric to take back to school with her. _Jimmy and Marie would love to have this for costuming. Between both boxes, there's enough for a vest and maybe some accents._

Opening the box, her eyes widen at the ornate necklace nestled within. The chain is a braid of white and yellow gold for most of the length, shifting to five thumbnail sized links that the amulet dangles. The amulet is a heavy gold coin with the Amell crest etched into it. "Crafted by Andrastian crafters and blessed by a Grand Cleric." Which means it's got a strong anti-magic effect. The Major moves over to stand behind the twins, his wife meeting him, as Carver studies a matching necklace, though his chain is longer and heavier. Once they're standing together, the Major placing an arm around her back in a very appropriate fashion, the media jump on the photo op.

Carver's smile falters just a touch, making him look a little bewildered for the photo op, a little sleepy. "Thank you," he says again. _They're trying to help._

Bethany laughs lightly. "Poor Carver, he's not one for jewelry, even some as touchingly chosen as these," she says lightly, flashing a dazzling smile at her twin. "I'll be sure to remind him to wear it on the right occasions. They're wonderful." She's thankfully done before she lifts the necklace and spots the Sunburst stamp on the back of the coin. It's small and mostly worked into the rune work but for a second, it's all she can see.

A few more gifts are opened and photos taken, though there are some very notable absences. Marian and their father, for obvious reasons, but Bethany notices that for some reason, their Uncle seemed to have forgotten to give Carver anything. Gamlen had given her a giant stuffed bear _(because I'm still twelve, evidently)_ , or at least a photo of it and a promise that it'll be there at her dorm when she gets back _(dumbass forgot to order it soon enough, I bet)_. But Carver hadn't even gotten a card, not that her twin seemed to notice amidst everything else.

He certainly does notices when Gamlen pulls him aside however. "Carver, my boy!" he says jovially, a slight glaze in his eyes thanks to the freely circulating wine and champagne flutes. "My boy, my boy, my boy... Seventeen! Nearly an adult and certainly a young man, eh, eh?" He glances around quickly as he continues to guide Carver out of the main area and into a side room. "Sorry for seeming to stiff you today, but I thought it best to give you your present in private. Not exactly, ah, fit for public attention, you see my boy." He winks broadly as Carver and snickers.

 _Oh no. It's panties, isn't it. It's about to be panties. Or his dick. Oh Maker, it's his dick isn't it?_ "Yah-huh?" he manages, weakly.

Stepping back, he reaches towards his pants... pocket. Pulling out an envelope, he presents it to Carver with a sloppy flourish. It's rather thickly packed, about as thick as a deck of poker cards, but otherwise normal looking. "Anyone asks, my boy, I got you a gift card to some electronics store or something," Gamlen says firmly, wagging his finger at Carver. "Capice?"

 _Nude pictures. Nude playing cards. Pictures of his dick. Cash? Maybe it's cash? Illegal black-market money laundered cash? Cash with pictures of his dick. Maker, stop thinking about your uncle's dick!_ "Yup," he manages.

Opening the envelope does, in fact, reveal a bunch of cash at first. Specifically, what must be a couple hundred in fives. Underneath the cash, however, are two slips of heavy paper. The first is a ticket, black background and fuzzy purple lettering up top and tiny white font at the bottom. A few seconds of stunned reading reveals it to be a six-pack entry pass to 'Madame Temperance's Pleasure Palace.' The second slip is clearly from the same place given the background and font, but instead of the establishment it has the name 'Trixie Wonderfun' across the top and a lipstick kiss on it.

"I arranged for some VIP treatment, just for you," Gamlen says with a pleased smirk. "Figured you might like to have a more interesting party with your friends once you're back at school. Place is the best stripclub within fifty miles of your campus." _I should know, I spent two weeks scouting. On the company's dime too, hah!_

 _A... stripclub. I'll take it_. "Thanks," he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. "This is great."

"Oh my boy, you have no idea. Trixie has a set of tits you can fit your head between." _And an ass that can grip tighter than a fist_. "You make sure you dress up though, it's a classy sort of club. And arrange for an Uber home, I've made sure they won't feel any need to check IDs," he adds with a wink.

"Uh. That's. That's great, Uncle," he says, hesitantly. "Yeah, I've got— is a button-down good? I've got a black button-down, maybe a bow tie?"

Gamlen sighs a little. "Button down is good. Bow-ties are for lame-os, my boy. Tell you what, ask your sister to put together an outfit for you." His eyes widen. "Don't say where you're going! Just say you're having a guy's night at a club or something."

 _I'm pretty sure she'll see through that but okay._ "Got it. Thanks again."

"Good lad," Gamlen says with a slap on Carver's arm. "You'll have to let me know how it goes. And maybe we can hit a club together when you turn eighteen, eh?"

"Uh. Maybe. We'll— we'll see." He slips the packet into the inside pocket of his suitcoat. "Cool, I need to go, uh, cake now. Bye."

Watching Carver leave, Gamlen shakes his head. "I really hope Trixie can make a real man out of him," he mumbles. "Poor boy's just not all there." Humming to himself, he checks his watch. _Hmmm. If I head out now, I can get to the Grainy Goose in time for happy hour._

Cake is cut, and Happy Birthday sung; The Major rises to use the restroom, and a moment later, a scream is heard.

When they rush to check on him, he's clutching his chest, rambling about a "ghost, a blond ghost," as he sinks to the ground.

"Call an ambulance!" screams his wife. "Somebody do something!"

As he's taken away in the ambulance, Garrett slips into a car, drives after him. _Someone has to look after the man, and it won't be Mother._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the younger twins' birthday party, their grandfather unexpectedly collapsed from a heart attack and had to be rushed to the hospital. Meanwhile, thanks to his meddling, Marian and the Chargers are partying with Malcolm at the beach house, unwelcome at the birthday party. With Garrett rushing off to the hospital to be of help, what will happen to the twins?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: trauma, grief, suicide

On the way to the beach house, Marian had picked up some tequila and mixers, so the group there is having a lovely time. At least, until she answers her phone, stepping away from the music onto the beach to listen.

"Beth?" she asks, stupidly. "You— slow down. What happened?"

"The Major had a heart attack," Beth repeats, voice too calm and upbeat to be at all real. "Like a nasty one, he's at the hospital. Garrett and Gamlen went with, mom is locked in a room with Grand-mère being... Mom and Grand-mère basically."

_Fuck._ "Leaving you and Carver alone? Are the guests still there or? What about Uncle Varric?"

A pause. "I'm, uh, I'm not sure? I mean about Varric. I think he went after Garrett, but I'm not sure. Most of the guests are gone too. The Viscount nearly ran out of the place," she says with an nearly audible eyeroll. "And yeah, I guess we're both just heading home? I'm gonna call an Uber for us next but I wanted to let you know from me instead of the news or whatever." _No-one else would think to do it I bet. Garrett maybe but he's busy._

"Don't go home. I'll text you the address here. You can come hang out with us. I think Dad's too drunk to drive anyway." A pause. "No tequila for you, though."

"Eww. Tequila's nasty." _Shit_. "I've heard."

"I'm glad you think so. I don't want you becoming a drunk like your uncle or dad." A pause. "Shit. I mean. I think Dad's just having a rough summer."

"Not being Gamlen is one of my guiding principles in life," Beth assures her big sister. "And... yeah. Things aren't great for Dad lately. Or, umm, for a while, I think. Years."

"Right, well, he's a grown man and he can make choices in— oh my god is he kissing _Bull_?! Fuck. I'm going to go break that up before someone gets hurt. I'll text you the address."

"Dad and your bodyguard? That's... an image." _It's weird enough trying to think of dad kissing someone, much less Mighty Mountain of Muscles._

"Yeah, I need to go remind him he's fucking _married_. I'll text. Stay safe." She hangs up, crossing the yard quickly to where the pair are leaned up against the porch railing. "Oi! Married!" she shouts, breaking into a jog.

"Flexible though," Dagna remarks as Marian jogs by, watching with keen academic interest.

Marian flips around to jog backward so she can jab a finger at Dagna. "No! That's my dad! Nobody wants to think about how heteroflexible my dad is!"

"Counterpoint: Iron Bull."

"He'd probably prefer, you know, not _married with four kids_!" She turns back around, stopping just shy of the hedge and smacking the back of Mal's head.

Bull steps backwards, making Marian's hand just miss, all without breaking his kiss. Or dropping Mal.

Merrill sighs a little as she watches, her attention having been caught by Marian jogging across the yard. _Drat. I totally shipped him and Krem. Oh well. Hmm. I should go check on Krem, make sure he's not all heart-broken._

"Bull! He's _married_! Ugh, I hate men!"

Bull grunts, then pulls away. " _Open_ marriage," he says quickly before returning to his task.

Mal winces as Marian shrieks, " _What?! Since when??! How??!_ " She narrows her eyes then, and adds, "does Mother know?"

Mal pulls back, voice slurring. "Of course. Yes. It would hardly be ethical otherwise."

"Something something cheating on him something something needs dick something something I've got a dick."

_"Mother is cheating on you?!!!"_

Bull groans loudly, then rotates so Mal is facing his daughter. Well, he can peek at her over Bull's shoulder as the qunari nibbles on his neck.

"Honey," he tries, his voice slurring a bit. "Sometimes when a man and a woman, ah..."

"Never the fuck mind," she snaps. "Beth and Carver are coming here. I'm going upstairs. Get your dick back in your pants."

"Fuck," says Mal. "Let's grab some coffee and then I'll go talk to her."

"Bahith is a real stick in the mud sometimes," Bull grumbles as he walks them both the kitchen. "Does this mean the party is turning PG-13?"

"No, no, just— Did she say the twins are coming here? Why? Did something happen?" he asks, frowning. He doesn't really expect an answer, not with Marian storming up the steps.

Having followed Marian over, Dagna tries to help. "She told someone not to go home, that she'd text them the address to here. Someone she told not to be like 'her uncle' and isn't allowed to have booze. So. Sounds likely?"

"...Yeah, that sounds like the twins," Mal groans. "Why? What happened?" So asking, he pulls his phone out, does a quick Google search. "...My father-in-law's in the hospital."

"Intensive care one can hope?" Bull asks, setting Mal down on a handy table.

"Doesn't say." He sighs, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "I _really_ need this. But the twins come first."

Bull smiles at him. "Good man," he rumbles. "And hey, not like I'm going anywhere soon." In the doorway, Dagna wanders away with a comment about hiding the dinosaurs.

It's almost two hours later when a heavy truck pulls up the long drive to the beach house. The driver gets out first and it's only Malcolm that realizes right away she's not an Uber driver. Captain Vallen opens the back door to let the twins out, then lifts a hand to shade her eyes from the just setting sun. Spotting Malcolm, she waves with her free hand before saying something to the twins.

Beth nods, grinning, and grabs Carver's hand to pull him towards the house. Looking put upon but smiling, he grabs a travel bag and lets her drag him along. Shaking her head and smiling, Vallen heads over towards Mal.

Malcolm drains the last of his coffee, letting it clear his head a bit as he does. "Aveline," he greets her, with a smile. "What's happened?"

Vallen shakes her head a little, expression a touch overwhelmed. "Mister Amell," she says in way of greeting. She's not in uniform or armour for once, instead wearing men's jeans and a shirt with a logo for a local radio station's annual blood drive event. "Sorry for worrying you, your children are fine." She snorts lightly. "If nothing else, I can attest to your younger daughter's lung capacity. She... _really_ likes to talk, doesn't she?"

"She does," he chuckles. "Sometimes I joke that she's taken all the words for both twins. Carver rarely speaks at home."

_At home? That's not a good sign._ "He was a bit shy," she agrees. "Polite and attentive to the conversation, mind you, just willing to let his sister do the talking."

"Yeah, that sounds like Carver." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Marian's upstairs, angry with me but safe."

"Angry?" Her eyes narrow as she studies him, noting his eyes, stance, the coffee and the trio of Chargers doing shots nearby. "Your drinking?"

"I think more the realization that her mother and I aren't doing well, but yes, the drinking didn't help." He hefts his mug. "Hence, coffee. Would you like a cup, by the way? I made a whole pot, in case we need to sober up some bodyguards fast."

"Thank you, that would be nice. Black," she adds. "And I'm very glad you're facing your problem. It seems an easy way to deal with stress and pain but it's not. Lost a lot of cops to that sort of 'coping' and your children deserve more."

"You ever come off duty?" he jokes, walking her inside to the kitchen to pour another cup each.

"No."

"Sorry to hear that," he says, wincing a little. "You really should relax. Stay a while. Grab a drink. Let your hair down, metaphorically."

Aveline looks away, a bit of color creeping up her neck. "That would not be... appropriate," she replies awkwardly. "I just wanted to ensure your children arrived safe and I was already there."

"Why not? You're not in uniform, so you can't be on-duty. We're friends, or something very like it. A drink or two won't hurt you. Letting yourself relax won't hurt— much the contrary. If you never turn off, you'll burn yourself out."

"I'm required to take at least forty-eight hours off every other week," Aveline mutters, still fixing her gaze on the ocean horizon. _And now today won't count because I called myself in, dammit._ "It's not about that. It's..." She trails off, looking even more uncomfortable.

"Hey," he says gently. "It's just me. You can talk to me. I don't bite."

Her jaw works for a moment. _Yes, that's part of the problem_. "I'm on the middle of what's essentially a military coup. I can't afford any..." Her nerve fails her and she finishes with, "distractions from that. Relaxing and everything else can wait."

"You can't afford to be so wound up you pop, either. At least talk to me about it?"

_Did you have to use that phrase in particular?_ She finally looks back at him, expression sour, as she tries really, really hard to not think about how long it's been since she's popped. "Now is when you remember what I've been harping at you?"

"What can I say, I'm a slow learner but I learn well once I do." He smiles.

"Jerk," she mutters, rubbing her temple. "I'm just... unsettled. I stand by my actions, but the scope of them is, well, daunting to say the least." She hesitates, then decides to offer a little more truth. "And it doesn't help that I'm having to admit to some rather long-standing bias."

"Against mages?"

She snorts. "Against you. Well, the 'nobility' in general."

He blinks. "Well you're not entirely wrong. Fuck most of the Amells, am I right? Just me and the kids."

Tilting her head, she studies him for a moment. "You honestly never noticed?"

"I knew you disliked me. I didn't understand why. Most people dislike me for being a mage."

Aveline nods slowly. "That's understandable. But no, I disliked you because of how easily you abused your fortune and power."

"Abused?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I saw the tox reports before they 'magically' vanished, Mal," she says tiredly. "I can't prove it and won't try at this point but you did use who and what you are to protect your son. I'll grant that you also did what you could for those that were hurt, and that's to your credit. Not everyone bothers with that last part." The bitterness in her tone is well hidden, but too raw to go unnoticed.

"If I can't use it to protect my family, what's power and money for?" he asks, sounding a little less tired than she, but not much. "He's not a bad kid, Aveline. The law can be overly strict, especially on first-time offenders. There has to be room to fuck up once in a while."

"Fuck up, yes. Everyone can make a mistake," she acknowledges. "And I agree that restitution and redemption are more powerful, more desirable, than revenge. I..." She swallows, lips twisting in a grimace. "It took a lot of long nights of debate with myself, but I can't deny that how Garrett's crash was handled was more just than jail time and fines would have been. Not the best way, but better."

"I nearly lost him, so many times this year," he says softly. "To addiction. To suicide. To the Templar. He didn't know how to ask for help, and I didn't know how to reach him. So I entrusted him to my best friend, and it's been better for him than any school, any rehab center, would have been. If he'd killed that boy, if he was really addicted to Blue and not just alcohol, I wouldn't have been able to save him."

Aveline hisses softly. "Please don't admit to things I don't need to know about," she asks plaintively.

"I... didn't?" he asks, frowning.

"Not directly no, but just wanted to get that said," Aveline explains, waving it off. "More importantly, I'm glad it worked. That he's a better person now. It's damn rare for people to grow that fast or that well. Especially ones that have other options."

"The law can't tell the difference between a young man in need of help and a criminal. I wish it could, but it can't. You can't codify that."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't try," Aveline says simply, though she smiles at him even as she disagrees. "We'll always needs guards, but..." She shrugs a little. "I would love to have far fewer prisons and far more counselors, work programs and rehab centers. And Maker, I wish i had the budget to ensure each and every guard had proper diplomancy training."

"I agree." He smiles. "Now back to your taking the evening off..." He breaks into laughter at the dirty look she gives him, shaking his head with a rueful grin. _She's not a bad sort, really._

* * *

Garrett swings by Starbucks on his way to Varric's, getting himself and Leliana each a latte on his way in. _One more conversation. Then I can sleep ('sleep')._

He pushes open the front door, setting the coffee down as he kneels to greet Barkspawn. "Hey boy. Taking good care of Daddy Varric for me? What a good boy you are." He plants a kiss on the dog's forehead, ruffling his ears as the dog wiggles with joy. "Good boy. Is Varric up?"

Barkspawn's ears go back sharply and he whines deep in his chest. Looking up at Garrett with pleading eyes, he gently takes the human's sleeve in his teeth and tugs. He lets go after a couple of steps, but the request is plain. Following the mabari down to the basement, he sits next to a TV and whines again. _The sub-basement? Why is he down there?_ Unfortunately, Leliana can't follow, as she's not programed into the security system and her being shot would be awkward. As such, it's just Garrett that hears Varric talking to someone.

"—said 'remove' not 'kill.' My mistake, I should have remembered how literal you can be. Still, this buys time to protect Garrett. All of the Secondaries are safe with the Chargers and Primary is with Tertiary Leliana so they're fine for now. Will you have any trouble getting into the hospital?"

"He best not," growls Garrett, stepping into the room. "I just came from there, I— who are you talking to?"

Varric stiffens, swinging around in his chair. "Prima— Garrett." He stops there, looking utterly at a loss for words.

"Are you on the phone?" he asks, then scowls further. "With an _assassin_? Did you send an— did you cause my grandfather's heart attack?"

"Not intentionally?" Varric offers after a delay.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, slamming a fist into the doorframe.

"I am not," Varric says, frowning as his eyes move to Garrett's fist. "Please do not hurt yourself. My intention was his death, not his hospitalization. He's a clear and present threat to you and Se— your siblings. I cannot allow that."

"You tried to have my grandfather _murdered_. I don't— I can't— I don't _believe_ you!" he snarls, lunging forward to grab the front of Varric's shirt, haul him up a little onto his toes.

Varric doesn't resist, doesn't make any attempt to stop him. "He hurt you," Varric says quietly. "Again and again, for years. I cannot allow that."

"You know what my mother never did?" he asks, his voice deadly even. "Tried to have someone killed for hurting me. That's a new fucking level of controlling."

"I'm not—" Varric goes silent, face slackening for a few seconds. "I was attempting to protect you and your family."

"I don't want your protection!" he snaps, thrusting Varric back a bit, releasing him. "Not anymore. Fuck you. You stay the hell away from my family, and me. Got it?"

"I— Garrett, please, I—" Varric swallows thickly as his head shakes from side to side very slowly. "Why? I don't—"

He takes a deep breath, his fingers flexing angrily. "I was coming here to do this anyway," he says, quietly. "But this just takes the cake."

Varric's hands clench, then relax. The motion repeats. "Why?" he repeats, voice uneven. "I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter," he says bitterly. "Stay away from my family. All of them. You've fucking changed." He turns his back on Varric, shoulders tense, fingers still flexing.

"Wait. Please. I can correct— My social algorithms weren't designed for this much use. I need more time to recover." His voice trembles and his right hand has started tapping thumb and pinkie on his thigh. "I will improve. Please."

"Your—" He spins, brow furrowed. "You're manipulating me with your implants?! Right from the start??!" But it rings false even as he says it. He can't really believe it. _He's been acting so weird...._

Varric hesitates again. "I use them constantly as an aid for understanding and interacting with people. My therapist has diagnosed me as having moderate to severe Aspergers." A pause. "I normally keep them on passive assist with those I trust. Currently, they are operating at three hundred twenty four percent past historical upper bounds in regards to system resources and operation priority."

"Why?" Garrett demands. "Stone cracks. _What did I do_?" He wipes an angry tear from his eyes. "I love you. I tried my best. Is that not enough?"

"Primary Garrett has committed no error." A pause. "Except hurting your hand just now. Social algorithms have been engaged at this rate, plus or minus twenty-seven percent since being released from quarantine."

"Quarantine— Varric. You were _kidnapped and tortured_. Say it!"

Varric blinks slowly. "Yes. The primary method was via quarantine. Total sensory deprivation combined with forced rapid cognition. What some call 'thinking in machine time.'"

"You— how, how long was it?" He croaks.

"I have no idea," Varric says simply. "My internal clock tracks planetary objective time. Decoupled from physical input, I could not measure it."

"Varric," he whispers. Then he swallows. "Turn off your implants. All of them."

Varric is silent for a long moment, one hand rising to rub at his temple briefly. "I cannot. Doing so would render me non-functional."

"No," he whispers, tears dripping down his cheeks. "No. You've had them off before. When I saved you. Remember? You shorted out, they were shut off."

"I was not as damaged then."

"Please," Garrett whispers. "Please. I know you're in there. Please. I need you. I'm sorry. Please."

"I cannot help or protect those I love if I am non-functional," Varric refuses.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. Just get some rest. I need some air. I won't leave. Just get some rest." He leans forward, planting a kiss on Varric's cheek.

Varric tenses, then relaxes. "Understood. Continue to stay with Tertiary Leliana. I will continue my work." He pauses. "I am glad I was able to explain. My social algorithms are not complex enough to interact with you successfully and the attempt was taxing."

"I bet," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Then he pulls back, leaving the room.

He doesn't, Varric notes, go upstairs. Instead, he keys himself into the playroom down the hall, the place they first began to explore BDSM together. A few moments later, as Barkspawn pads back into the room with a whine, clearly shut out, a text message sends from Garrett's phone:

> Lels,
> 
> I'm sorry. I know this will hurt you and I'm so, so sorry. I just can't. I need you to do some things for me:
> 
> 1\. Increase security around my grandfather. Assassins have been hired to take him out.  
> 2\. Tell my family I'm gone. Tell them I left town, if you prefer, or tell them the truth if you'd rather. It doesn't matter to me.  
> 3\. This is the hardest, and I'm so sorry to leave it to you, but I just can't. Varric is dead. Died at the hands of the templar. He has advanced implants, implants that are still keeping his brain function going even now. I need you to do the right thing.
> 
> For what it's worth, I love you. I think I would have been ready to tell you soon. But I can't go on like this, with the shame and failure. I can't do what needs to be done, and I can't live with being the person who ordered it. If you can, return both of us to the stone when it's all done. The Maker would reject me anyway.
> 
> I'm sorry  
> -Garrett  
> 

"Do not do this thing."

Garrett nearly jumps out of his skin, losing the thread of the mana he was pulling together to speed his metabolism. "Who— Cole. You're Cole."

"Do not do this thing. You are operating under factually incorrect assumptions."

"Wha—"

"Varric is not dead."

There's a pause as both of them look at each other, Garrett's eyes sunken with grief and exhaustion, Cole's oddly pleading despite his neutral expression.

"He's— his implants—"

"Cannot control his body. They can only offer assistance. Varric himself must speak and walk." A pause. "They may send text messages," he adds, as Garrett's phone chimes.

Garrett glances at his phone, then back up at Cole. "He— he said he can't—"

"Please. Varric needs you. Do not do this thing, Primary Garrett."

That almost breaks Garrett's nerve then and there. "Don't call me that," he whispers, vehemently. "I'm not Primary anything. I'm not a machine. I'm a man. And I'm a failure."

"Please read your texts."

A glance at his phone gives a lot in one sense and not much in another. Garrett has a dozen text messages, two from Leliana demanding answers and ordering him to come back upstairs. The other ten are from Varric's implant and all the same message: Please no. Can't lose you. Can't fail again. Please no.

After a moment, Garrett realizes then that he's not just reading this message, he's hearing it come from the intercom. And his phone. And the computer speakers from the small workstation in the corner. And then the words change.

"No. Nononono. I— Garrett. I left him. He needs me and I left him. First I failed Marian, now him. And Bianca. Mal. Even Fenris. Stone, Fenris. Garrett doesn't even have him. Just Mal. Fumbling, well-meaning but closed off Mal. All my fault. Not good enough. Not clever enough. Not decent enough to take care of them, any of them. All my fault. I... I just... I can't. I just can't.

I just want it all to stop."

The words repeat, nearly identical each time, over and over again in a tight, rapid whisper. On the third cycle, his phone dings again with a text from Leliana. 'Are you hearing this too? That sounds— I just got added, I'm coming down.'

"He cares for you a great deal," says Cole, crossing his arms. "I can feel it radiating from him. The same feeling you have: failure, shame, agony. Only his body was returned from Revelations. The rest of him remains trapped."

"..Literally?"

"No."

Garrett takes a deep breath, then another, his eyes closing as the blond boy continues: "I don't have a lot of time. I need you to remember. Please, remember this. Remember what I said, even if you forget me."

Then he is gone. Garrett shudders, rocking back and forth on the bed as he listens to the PA system, glances at the phone. _Varric needs me. I have to find a way to help him. I have to get through to him, get him to stop punishing himself. I have to._

A minute or so later, there's a pounding on the door to the playroom, accompanied by a worried bark.

There's no immediate answer, but the door opens a moment later, and Barkspawn races inside, jumping up onto the bed to lick Garrett's face as the mage rocks.

Seconds later, Leliana rushes over to Garrett. Not bothering to speak at first, she bodily inspects him for injuries and finds none; he's pale, a little peaky, but intact. Whole.

"Leliana," he chokes out, his tears redoubling. "I— help me. Please, help me."

"Talk to me," Leliana says urgently. "What's going on?"

"It's Varric," he says quietly. "He's not— that's going on in his head, all the time. I didn't save him. He's still trapped in his guilt. I can't— I have to _leave_ him and he's— he _needs_ me. I have to save him and I can barely save myself."

"Maker's breath," Leliana mutters with a stricken expression. "Okay. Okay. We have some time to work this out but first..." She grabs him by the hair on the back of his head, twisting it painfully. "Don't you ever give up like that again," she snarls. "How _dare_ you give up without even asking for help! You have me, you have family, you have friend and resources! Next time, _use them_. Ask for fucking help, do you understand me?"

He closes his eyes, then, taking a deep breath, his voice painfully even. "Lels. It's over. I can't— it's over. I just have to save Varric first."

"It's not over," Leliana growls at him. "There is _always_ another option. We got lucky with your grandfather's heart attack, it buys time. We can figure something out."

"Not luck," he says, wincing. "Varric tried to have him killed. Or— Varric's _implants_ tried to have him killed. That's why he's been so distant— it's been his implants talking, this whole time."

Leliana stares a moment, trying to work through that. "What?" she finally manages. "Not about the killing, that makes sense in a Varric sort of way, but what's this about his implants."

"His implants are extensive, special. They have routines for manipulating people, getting them to do what he wants. He's just been... he's been using them instead of dealing with life. Letting them decide what he says and does."

"Ah." _That makes more sense, somewhat. I've heard of deep R &D companies that are prototyping real-time translation implants but that still requires the person to decide what to say first_. "I've seen social engineering software for implants, but most of them are shit. Still, if anyone would have good ones, it would be Varric."

"So." He takes a deep breath. "So we have forty-eight hours to save him. Then I have to break up with him and leave."

"Or not," Leliana repeats. "Why do you have to break up?"

"My grandfather. It's— there's— there's this future I have, this destiny. I have to take over the company. And I won't, I won't be me anymore when I do that. I'll be their pawn. I'll have to marry the Viscount's niece, I'll have to learn to obey my grandfather the way my father does, I'll— it's all over. I thought I had more time. Every time I think about the future it's like this black hole opens under my feet and I'm falling and— but it doesn't matter. I'm out of time. The future begins Monday."

"Fuck that destiny," Leliana says simply. "If you can't or won't refuse him outright, then trick him. Pawns only need live long enough to get to the other side to be promoted after all. Stay with Varric, stay with me, stay yourself. Pretend to go along with things until you can turn it around on him. He is old and evidently unwell. Even if he is stubborn about not dying, you can still use this. Make allies, earn favors, learn how to game the company. Then take it from him."

"I can't," he whispers. "I'm not good enough. Look what happened with Varric."

"You are," Leliana insists. "You won't be alone. I'll help you. So will Dale and your father. And when Varric is better, he'll help too."

"He'll hurt Carver," he insists. "I can't."

"Then we protect Carver. We make sure he doesn't realize you're resisting until he's powerless," Leliana says quickly. "I understand not wanting to kill your own blood family but there are other ways to take his power."

"Why can't you just—"

"Because I need you, dammit," Leliana snaps. "And I refuse to let you just die."

He takes a deep breath, then another. "Later," he decides. "We'll argue about this later— we only have a short while to help Varric."

Her eyes narrow. "There's nothing to argue about."

"It's my life, Lels."

"And you joined it with mine. You dying affects me," she says with a shrug. "Just saying 'it's my life' doesn't justify watching a loved one destroy themselves."

"I wouldn't make you _watch_ , I just— shouldn't I get a choice? Don't I— can't I— does everyone in my life have to try and control me? I can't keep living for other people. I can't."

"Isn't that what you're saying you're going to do? Obey your grandfather and live on his whim?"

He shakes his head. "I can't. But if I die, maybe— maybe it'll be enough. Maybe he'll leave Carver alone, out of fear of losing another one."

"And if it doesn't work? If he just doubles down and goes after him _and_ Beth? Because you are fooling yourself if you honestly think he would give up like that, not given how much he has done already."

"If I defy him, he'll hurt Carver anyway. I can't comply. I can try, but I know I'll end up killing myself. This is why I was up at that rest stop before, Lels. This is why."

"Even if you're just pretending, to buy time? Even if you can get support?" _Give me something, Gary. Please don't give up._

"We'll discuss it," he concedes, glancing at his phone. "I have to call my shrink. I have an appointment I need to cancel. And I guess I need the number for Varric's shrink. And his engineer, and his doctor. We'll get the whole team together."

Leliana gapes at him. "Cancel your appointment? Gary, you just tried to _kill yourself_!"

He hunches his shoulders just a bit. "I don't have time. I'll go Monday." _If I'm not dead._

Leliana stares at at him implacably. "How about you ask if he can make a home visit? Perhaps while Varric is being looked over by Mister Li?"

"I— I guess," he concedes. "But don't tell him... any of this. If they think you're a danger they can have you locked up and I don't— Varric wouldn't— he needs my help."

"As long as you promise me that you'll talk about the build up. Just... say you broke down and cried or something instead of stabbing me in the heart," Leliana bargains, a bit of hurt driven anger slipping in.

"I didn't—"

"Imagine Varric had sent you that text," she interrupts him, voice cutting. "How would you have felt?"

Garrett blanches. "...sorry," he admits, after a moment.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me," she says quietly, cupping his cheek. "We'll get through this, okay? Together."

"I just can't risk being taken from Varric a minute sooner than I have to be. He needs help. Bad."

"So do you. And how much help would it be for him if he recovers only to find out you're going off to die?"

"So don't tell him."

Leliana stares at Garret in disbelief. "I think he might notice!"

"That's why I wanted you to lie to my parents. To tell them I— _later_. We need to help Varric first."

"I meant when you die," she hisses at him, clearly annoyed.

"As if you don't know how to get rid of a body."

"And what, you think he's three and will just forget you existed?"

"Tell them I left. I'm backpacking around Europe."

"Ah, so you're banking on massive brain damage."

"What, are you allergic to discussing Varric?"

"I care about Varric a great deal. I respect him, I trust him, I owe him a great deal. But I care about you more." _Love you,_ she thinks but can't say. Not yet, not right now, not like this. Leliana shrugs a little. "Barkie is watching him, he'll bark if anything happens. I want to focus on you right now because you have a terrible habit of pushing things off and ignoring them if someone doesn't pin you to the floor."

The edges of his mouth quirk upward for half a second, as he contemplates asking her to pin him— but stops, his pain and grief sucking the humor out of the joke. "We only have the weekend to help him. Please. Let me help him. Don't make me watch him suffer just because I'm hurting too."

"Will you swear to me, on Varric's life, on the love you feel for him, for me, for your siblings, that you'll get help? That you'll ask for help with your problems instead of giving up?"

"I can't," he whispers. Then he takes a deep breath. "But I can swear to you this conversation isn't over. That we'll talk about this again before I make any decisions one way or another. Alright?"

"A real talk, not just humoring me?"

He nods, taking a deep breath. _Because you might take it. Because I can't lose you. Because the twins need you. Because your father can't lose another child. Because you're loved and wanted and dammit the world would be so much darker without you in it._ "Yes. A real talk. If there's— as attractive as it sounds,as much as I want to run away, if there's any chance I can live, I should try."

Leliana searches his eyes for a long moment, then sags against him. "Thank you. Maker's Mercy, thank you Gary," she whispers, voice cracking.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, smelling her shampoo. _My Leliana. My love._ "I love you," he whispers. "I'm sorry I'm such a coward."

"We'll work on it," she says weakly, unable to dispute his apology. She shivers against him for a few moments as the adrenaline finishes draining out of her body. "Alright. Alright," she repeats as she tries to gather herself. "We call in Mister Li and his doctor. Track down his therapist. We'll figure out how to pay for them to come here for a few days some way or another. What else? Your father?"

"Yes," he agrees. "They're close. We need him to remember he has people, even if he doesn't... even if not me. Barky. Gerav. You. Dale? Is he close to Dale?"

"Not really. To be honest, I'm not really sure I would say the two of us are all that close, not in comparison to you," Leliana admits. "He..." She bite her lip as she leans back so they can see each other's face. "He saved me once, then paid for my tuition, my training, gave me a job and a place to belong. But I was never able to reach back, not really. Gerav is much the same. Trust, respect, even appreciation but friendship?" She shakes her head a little. "Not on his side at least. Before you, it seemed that only Mal had figured out the trick of reaching him."

"Then we hold an intervention. Let him know just how many people are worried about him. How many of us would help him if he'd only ask."

She nods slow, then cocks her head. "When do the twins head back to school?"

"Monday. But I don't want them involved in this."

"Shouldn't we ask them if they want to be involved? They love him too."

"I don't want them hearing what happened to him," he corrects. "I scared them once already. Maybe Marian, though."

"Marian for sure. And I think you're underestimating the twins but..." She shrugs. "Maybe post-intervention, for the love and support section of the event."

"Let's see if this works first. I'm going to start calling people."

* * *

Marian grumbles to herself, tossing yet another beer can into the trash bag as she tries to right the living room. She's not even entirely sure why she's doing it, other than, she can't sleep and someone has to do it. _Haven't heard from my passenger in a while— you doing alright back there, Tanna?_

There's no answer to that call, nor the next. The third call, tinged with actual concern at the silence, finally causes a stir. _My Love? You have need of me?_ The response starts out weak, almost distracted, but soon fills with a yearning to prove herself, to be helpful and wanted.

_You've been quiet_ , she replies. _What are you up to in there?_

_Grieving_. Tanna seems to sigh softly, the impression coupled with feeling of soft shame and deep sadness. _I've been so excited about being free and joyous about not being alone... It was easy to put off thinking about my family. And about how they would have felt about what..._ The feeling of shame thickens and curdles, turning darker as the spirit recalls the memories of what was done to not just Marian but Clemence, Flemeth, Yang and even Petrice.

"Mood," says Marian quietly. _I've been so glad to be home I guess I haven't been thinking about what my family has been going through, thinking I'm dead. Dad kept staring at me last night, even before I caught him making out with Bull, and... well... I think I might have caused my parents to break up._

_I could find out, if you liked. You have felt only an echo of what I can sense of a mortal's desires when we touch them. I could find out how old his desire for coupling with others is._ The shame fades, not vanishing or diminishing but merely receding, as she offers. And Marian feels a hint of the spirit's relief and pride that she's remembering to offer help and not just doing it.

_No. I'd rather not pry. It's invasive._ She takes a deep breath. _Besides, everyone's eyes wander, don't they? Even when you're married. It's natural._

_There's a difference, between idle wants and true dreams or desires_. Tanna shrugs a little. _For instance, your nestmates. Beth's desire to share pleasures with Morrigan is mostly idle, while Carver's desire to resemble Iron Bull or Krem is much more deeply rooted._

_Oh_. "About Carver..." _This is sensitive, so please don't discuss it with people, but you may run across... inconsistencies in Carver's shape. When he was born, we thought he was female. He had a girl's name and everything. It took about ten, twelve years for him to convince us he was male, but now he's doing the necessary things to convert his shape to be a male form._

There's a thrum of interest and curiosity. _Body sculpting is a very advanced discipline. Why did you not believe him when his /flesh quickening into fullness/ revealed his gender?_

_His... puberty? We didn't let him go through puberty. That happens a little later than he convinced us. We had to put him on drugs to go through male puberty instead of female, his body would have ripened into a young woman's body otherwise._

Another pulse of curiosity, though Marian can feel that Tanna is pointedly keeping herself apart enough that the spirit can't simply read the context and meaning of the mortal's words. _Puberty... That is the time when humans become able to mate?_

_Yes. So when a child is developing in the womb, there's two chemicals. Male fetuses— that is to say, unborn male children— release a lot of Testosterone, and develop male. Female fetuses release a lot of Estrogen, and develop female. Then at puberty, another wave of Testosterone or Estrogen happens, and they develop further, becoming able to mate, among other things. In between, that's when kids like Carver realize they're wrong. So he's sort of... we were able to stop Estrogen from happening at Puberty, and we put him on Testosterone that was made artificially, so that he'll do male puberty, but we couldn't fix what was done in the womb, not all the way. We have to use surgery to sort of fix it crudely. We don't have good enough fleshcrafting to fix his body with magic._

Tanna absorbs all of this like water into the desert, each new word and idea eagerly gathered and examined with great pleasure. _I see! That is rather different and yet also not, compared to how it occured with /truest flesh and blood./ They were born all the same, and it is only when they undergo /flesh quickening into fullness/ that they become, ah, gendered? Is that how it would be said?_ At Marian's confirmation, she hums with contentment, then continues. _But it is different as well because more is done than just mating ability. Their old scales are shed and their adult hide comes in now that they have /will infused into flesh/ enough to grow it properly, which grants them better protection and allows their wings to bear their weight properly so they can fly instead of just glide. Their..._ She hesitates, discarding the word she would normally use to try and find one Marian will understand. _There is a part of their body, umm, an organ! Yes, there is an organ in their throat that finishes growing as well. It helps channel their, umm, internal mana, I suppose? Into one or more elementals they can breath out. Before then, they can only manage one element, perhaps two if they are particularly powerful, and only in tiny bursts. Oh! And they stop needing to eat so much, which is very good as dragons young eat roughly twice their own weight in meat and once in fruit or green plants every couple of days. It would take entire herds for each meal to feed an adult._

_That's... very different. Anyway, Carver is transgender and that's sensitive, don't tell people or point it out if you notice anything off. That's what I wanted to say._

_Of course, I can do that, yes_ , Tanna replies rapidly, eager to not cause trouble. _But, umm, why? Why is it bad?_

_Not everyone believes people's gender can be different than their body. It's best to pretend he was always male._

_But that's dumb. Who else would know better what a person is than that person? Neuters don't look any different than males or females on the outside. If you didn't simply trust their word, you'd have to cut them open to tell. Or mate with them excessively, I suppose. But that could give a false negative due to an illness, toxin or injury rendering them unable to procreate._

_What's a neuter? I mean, I can guess based on the word, but..._

_/Truest flesh and blood/ are all born with the same breeding oriented organs, though they're, ah, incomplete then. During their... puberty... those organs become either capable of creating eggs or capable of nurturing eggs into dragonlings. Male or female in your terms. But roughly one in three are neuter. They have neither the instincts or desire to sire or clutch despite having most of the flesh needed to do those things. They're very important and the only reason /truest flesh and blood/ were able to develop a true civilization._

_Oh, I see. Intersex, we call them, more like one in a thousand, something like that. They aren't always asexual, either. Mostly they aren't. Asexuals... I don't know how often that happens. Probably less than one in ten. Also, our females have eggs inside them that are fertilized, they don't get put there by the males. We... I suppose it's accurate to say we hatch inside the womb, just before being expelled from it._

_That sounds... interesting_ , Tanna muses. _Are your intersex and asexuals honored and cherished like our neuters? Or are they a sensitive topic as well?_

Marian laughs aloud. "No. What is different, we murder. That's how humans are."

_If someone tries to murder you or ours, we should eat them first. Err, kill them first._

"Someone's in a cynical mood," says Morrigan, entering the room behind Marian.

_So Uncle said_ , begins Marian, but she turns to greet Morrigan, frowning. "Good morni— you're naked."

"I am. Does that bother you?"

"...but you're naked though."

Morrigan sighs. "I shall return."

_I would like to suggest she should remain naked. Can you tell her that? And can we be naked?_

Marian bursts out laughing, but shakes her head when she sees Morrigan's frown. "I think my spirit friend is a lesbian as well."

_Merrill could be naked too,_ Tanna coaxes, temping Marian with a toddler's subtlety.

_Careful. Lesbian is a kind of different_ , Marian warns.

"I see," says Morrigan, frowning. "I had been meaning to ask you some questions about being joined to a spirit. May I proceed, or shall I clothe myself first?"

_Oooh! We get to teach!_ Tanna nearly vibrates with pleasure and joy at the idea. _We should teach her now!_

"Tell you what— Tanna, can you manifest a mote again? Then I can finish cleaning and you two can speak."

"To be clear: I do not wish to speak with Tantalizing Dreams," corrects Morrigan. "I wish to speak with Marian Amell, if such a creature can be found."

"I... am Marian, yes," says the mage, frowning a little. "What's this about?"

_I want a mote anyway please. She might have questions later. And I might have answers she didn't realize I have._

As Marian feeds Tanna a spool of mana, Morrigan speaks again: "I wish to understand what it is like being joined to a spirit. I am considering undergoing a similar joining, and I wish to be prepared."

"Oh?" asks Marian, frowning. "With what kind of spirit?"

"I do not know," says Morrigan. "But it is called Mythal."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric hasn't been acting like himself. Garrett, beyond worried, has cooked up a plan to help him out, though even he isn't sure if it'll work...

Varric, at a loss for what else to do after watching Leliana accomplish what he hadn't been able to even attempt, had finally gone back to working on the quarterly report to the Board; it was long delayed, and dammed if he expects to write a single word he'll want to keep, but he'd needed to do _something_. Garrett is alive. That has to be enough.

When Barkspawn returns after one of his patrols of the subbasement with the clear intention of fetching him, he almost wants to wave the dog off and ignore him. That is, until he checks on Garrett and discovers his tracking bracelet in the doorway, watching Barky and Varric.

Varric carefully rereads the last sentence he had typed— having realized almost immediately that attempting to use a direct link allows too many errors to slip in— and deletes Garrett's name in two places. He just as carefully saves the document, then shuts down the terminal. All that done, he finally rotates his chair to look at Garrett with an expression of forced blankness.

"Please," says Garrett quietly. "Come upstairs. I'm worried about you."

"Acknowledged," Varric says softly, eyes focusing on Garrett's left shoulder. "How can I reassure you?"

"Talk to me. Talk about what's bothering you. Talk about what they did, how you feel." Garrett takes a deep breath. "I'm worried."

Varric is silent a moment. "I am reluctant to burden you. You are not well. I am coping. Emotional suppression is allowing functionality. "

"Come upstairs," says Garrett, more firmly. "I have something I want to show you."

"Acceptable," Varric decides, rising. He hesitates before moving however, studying Garrett. "You are... unharmed?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes," he says quietly. "Thanks to Leliana. I— we're going to talk about that some more later."

Varric flinches a little, head jerking in a nod. "Understood. I will follow."

_Varric_ , Garrett thinks, his heart squeezing as if in a vice. He turns, then, leading Varric out of the room, up the steps, to the living room.

The living room which is full of people: Mr Li, his mechanic; Aldane, his physician; Gerav, Cole, and Leliana from his crew; Mal, Marian, and a huge qunari he suspects must be The Iron Bull. All of them gathered, with drinks in hand, standing or seated, watching, waiting for him.

"Please, sit down," says Garrett, pulling up a chair for the dwarf.

As Varric warily complies, much of the crowd attempts to avoid staring. Mister Li is scowling, an almost offended look on his face as he studies Varric. Gerav's face is blank but focused, while Leliana moves to support Garrett.

"Nice to officially meet you, Uncle Dude," the qunari rumbles from behind Marian, more or less confirming his identity. 

"Varric," says Garrett quietly. "We're worried about you. We're all worried. Cole?"

"You haven't been right since you were stolen," affirms Cole, hanging his head a little in shame. "I thought if I followed orders everything would be alright, but it isn't. Something is really wrong. I am frightened."

"Li?" asks Garrett next, glancing at the mechanic.

"You are fucking moron," Li says bluntly. "Implants are part of your body, part of you. You would not devour your leg to feed your arm, would you? Would not gorge on food for the sake of your tongue and to the Empty Stone with your belly, mmmh? It is foolish man that abuses something so precious."

"Not to mention that Li explained what kind of byproducts overtaxing your implants would produce. A dozen kinds of chemicals I can't pronoun even with my fancy-ass doctorate, plus enough heat to warm up a slice of pizza every day for dinner. You're _extraordinarily_ lucky you haven't had heat stroke yet. Or seizures for that mat—" Aldane pauses, eyes narrowing at Varric's very subtle reaction. "I will ask this once. Have you had a seizure since your rescue?" he asks in a scarily cold voice.

Varric hesitates, then nods slightly. "Twice. Minor. Self-diagnostics revealed no—"

Garrett makes a small, strangled noise, something like a whimper. "Varric, please, you'll kill yourself this way," he urges, deviating from the script they'd agreed on.

Malcolm is no better, jumping to his feet— but he quiets, letting his son take charge, as Marian reaches to squeeze his hand.

"Self-diagno— You can't— That's not— Fucking idiot— Using a tool to test itself—" Li and Aldane's protests jumble together, then Li gestures at the other man to continue as the dwarf instead resorts to dire mutters in Cantonese. "Self-diagnostics are always problematic, no matter the focus, but for your own brain? Are you serious? Might as well lift yourself up by your own dick!"

Varric shifts a little. "I did not want to... risk being..."

"What was it you said to me?" asks Mal, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. "This is why I should have watched romantic comedies— because then I'd understand that our loved ones want to see us grieve, not witness a mask of politeness all the time."

"I would be non-functional without this adaptation in place," Varric replies stubbornly, right hand beginning to tremble before he grips the side of the chair. "I cannot afford to be non-functional at this time. There are too many threats to Garrett. And also to Secondaries and Tertiaries."

Garrett glances to Gerav, Leliana.

"Secondaries and what now?" Bull asks a touch hesitantly.

"Garrett's happiness and wellbeing is my Primary goal. Mal, Bethany, Marian, and Carver are Secondary priorities. And so forth," Varric explains, tone evening at having easier question to answer, one with clear definitions and meanings.

Bull nods at the explanation, clearly getting that mindset. "Cool, cool. Any reason why you're the only one that can do all this? I mean, couldn't you just... tell people about what's up, arrange for them to have access to what they'd need to get shit down and take a nap? And by nap, I mean a month long vacation?"

"You could hire the Chargers," adds Marian. "They kept me safe. They can keep my idiot brother safe too."

Varric blinks slowly. "I was considering hiring them to accompany the twins to school, as it seems that we will be unable to prevent their return."

Bull frowns a little, glancing at Marian.

"Wait, they're going back to the UP?" asks Marian, startled.

"Unfortunately," says Mal, glowering a little.

"Alright, well, you have people, right?" she asks, looking to Leliana. "Bull, if Krem and the Chargers went to the UP, could you organize Varric's people for a while?"

Leliana coughs a little, then shrugs. "Fuck it. Gerav and I run Varric's private security force." The dwarf grunts a little, eyes snapping to the therapist and doctor as having the least confirmed trustworthiness in his opinion. "We're not an army or anything, not even that large, but we're all either mages or martial artists of whatever flavor. Slanted more towards subtlety than brute force, but we're good. If certain people," she glares at Varric, then includes Mal and Garrett for good measure, "were actually willing to talk about what problems they're facing, then yes, we could probably help out a great deal."

"Uh, I could hang around for a bit after they go, sure," Bull hedges. "Still have some, uh, commitments with you though," he hints to the mage.

"You got me home," says Marian, frowning a little. "That's all we asked. You're free now, if you want to take another job; I'll stay in touch about the artifact retrieval. I— I don't know what I plan to do next, not yet."

Bull frowns a little. "We'll talk after," he says in a low voice. _Idiot girl, ain't about a job._

"As long as it doesn't endanger my family, I will tell you what I know," says Malcolm.

"Me too," agrees Garrett, his voice thick. "Varric, please. Trust us. Let us help."

Varric lowers his head, silent and thinking. "Maybe the two of you can go first?" Leliana suggests after a moment, glancing at Garrett and his dad.

Malcolm speaks first: "The Templar— Meredith Stannard, at the least, and likely Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves as well— are trying to get to me. Their end goal is to Tranquil me, and force me to reveal the secrets behind my microchips so they can obtain magitech. To that end, they have tried to Tranquil two of my children, in the hopes of incriminating me as a blood mage and getting hold of me."

"That's not what this was about, though," says Garrett, firmly. "This is about Varric's secret past. The Templar are working with the people who— well, uh... it's Varric's secret, really. But they want him because of that."

"You may explain," Varric murmurs, still withdrawn.

"Al-alright," says Garrett, clearly thrown. "Well. When he was young, Varric was sold to a secret underground research group called Revelations."

"Deepest Revelations," corrects Mal.

"Sure. They gave him the advanced, prototype implants he has, and he barely escaped with his life. He changed his name, moved all the way to Kirkwall, created StoneSure. It's taken them until recently to catch up. My— my friend Fenris, who some of you know as my bodyguard Frank, was also rescued from Revelations, and he's— they kept him. Moved him before we could rescue him. He's still... anyway. This is about them wanting him back, for their own sinister purposes."

"Alliance between Revelations and Templar, at least Kirkwall division, highly probable," Varric adds absently. "Revelations implants are cross-racial, albeit with significant side-effects and low survival rate. Conversion to magitech would significantly increase effectiveness. Templar likely desire to have implants added to their arsenal."

Li's muttering resumes, even more scathing and he rises from his seat to pace angrily. "That is a horrifying outcome," Leliana says faintly.

"Can you trust us to protect you?" Garrett asks. "Your home is so secure, we could hole up here, and they wouldn't be able to get to you."

"My protection is not the issue," Varric says, head shaking.

"I'll be at the Amell Mansion, I'll be safe as houses," begins Garrett.

"...you mean home, right?" asks Marian, scowling. "Right? Because you're sure as shit not moving in with Pappy and Grandmere."

Garrett flinches, looking down at his hands as he feels the familiar chasm opening beneath his feet. "It's time I took over the Amell corporation," he says quietly. "As I was always destined to do."

"Bullshit!" Now Marian jumps to her feet, hands clenching into fists.

"Very much so," Leliana says bluntly, scowling. "Your grandfather is blackmailing him into committing slow-acting suicide."

Garrett flinches again at the word, something Mal can't help but notice. "Absolutely not," says the father. "I—" He stops, then, sitting slowly. "I can't protect you," he says, after a long moment. "I've been instructed to take Marian on a trip. Out of the country. I was told Garrett will be taking my position."

Varric frowns, head lifting a little as the planning and plotting force him out of his own head. "Using Marian to control Mal. Carver to control Garrett. Elimination is the most effective option."

"You are not assassinating my grandfather," says Garrett again.

"I have a plan," says Mal, quietly. "But I need time to make it work. A week or so."

"I don't understand why that option is forbidden," Varric says almost sullenly.

"Aside from legalities?" Aldane says wryly, wondering just what he's gotten into.

"'Emotions' are why," Leliana says crisply. "Not saying I don't half agree but still. Malcolm, you have a plan?"

"I do. A plan involving blackmail material I'm not comfortable sharing with the group. I just need to gather evidence."

"Anything we can do to help that along?" Bull asks.

"No. I suspect the twins need to return to school before I can capture the evidence I need."

"So we're looking at stalling things with Gramps then," Bull summarizes. "What's the word on his condition?"

"Out of critical, stabilizing. Expected to wake within twelve to twenty four hours," Varric supplies. "Functional recovery, two months. Full recovery, indeterminate."

"A week, you said?" asks Garrett, his voice rough. "I can pretend for a week. He wants me to move in Monday but I can pretend until you get me out of there."

"I could set his house on fire," Bull offers. "Done it before, no casualties, just a hell of a mess and headache."

"That might be too obvious, after his heart attack. Perhaps Garrett could be 'injured' in some way? Faked, of course," she adds quickly when Varric's head snaps around to face her.

"If my actual injury isn't stopping him..." warns Garrett. "I suppose I could get the flu."

"Infection," Varric grunts softly. "Blame it on your knee, casts blame on the Templar."

"Maybe," he agrees. "But we're deflecting now. Varric, can you trust us to handle this? Can you let go?"

Varric stills, posture tensing again. "I don't know," he replies honestly.

"Try?" Garrett begs.

"After you're safe," he bargains.

"Varric... no-one is ever entirely safe," Leliana says gently. "There's always danger from something."

"You have always struggled with trust," Gerav offers tentatively. "But it's gotten worse. Unhealthy worse, even to my cynical eyes."

"The safest time is right here, right now. If things go horribly wrong, we'll run downstairs and hide out in the playroom until it's calm. I'll be safe here, while you let go. Alright? All your friends are here. It's safe. Please. For me, please, try." Garrett reaches to take his lover's hand, gently, eyes earnest.

Varric tenses, though not at the touch. In fact his hand grips Garrett's back tightly. "Here? Now?"

"Here. Now. Where anyone you could possibly need is on hand."

Varric swallows convulsively, eyes darting around the room. "No. Too— too much," he whispers, voice low enough that only Garrett and Gerav, the two closest to him, can hear. "I can't—"

"Maybe take him somewhere more private," Gerav says quietly, the first time he's ever directly addressed Garrett. "Work his way up a bit."

"If I take you downstairs, will you try?" he asks, quietly. "Just us and Barky."

Varric starts to nod, then hesitates. "Leliana." Realizing he needs to explain, he adds, "for you. In case."

"Alright. Leliana can come with." He takes a deep breath. "Dad, order some pizza? We might be a bit."

_Yay. Totally not the threesome offer I've been dreaming about at all. Fuck my life._. "I'm happy to help," the redhead says with a smile. "Hawaiian for me; ham, not bacon."

* * *

Things go about as well as could be expected; not as easy as Garrett hoped but not nearly as bad as Varric feared. Deactivating all of his social advisor programs sends the Shirén into a horrible crash as all his repressed emotions erupt. Garrett is forced to pin his lover to the bed in the playroom to prevent him from digging into his own flesh, Varric desperately trying to prove to himself that he can feel things, that's he's not back in quarantine or helpless on an operating table. After nearly ten minutes of struggling, he goes limp. Body trembling, tears dripping down his face, he keens softly between whimpers as he clings tightly to Garrett.

"I love you," murmurs Garrett again, planting a kiss on Varric's neck. "I love you." A kiss to his shoulder. "I love you." A kiss on his temple. "I love you." A kiss on his elbow, just in the crook of it. "You're safe. I'm here. You're safe."

And next to him, Leliana keeps a hand lightly resting on Garrett's ankle to remind him that he's not alone either. That he can be strong for Varric because he can lean on her. And, almost despite herself, she silently cries in sympathy for a man that she's only slowly realizing she'd long thought of as untouchable and remote. A hero, albeit a dark one, that pulled her from danger and gave her hope, that she could never reach or repay instead of a very real, very mortal, man that can be broken and violated.

* * *

Upstairs, the gathered crowd drift around awkwardly. The arrival of the pizzas is a great relief as everyone gets a socially acceptable and easily understood task to focus on. They start breaking up into smaller groups as they eat, one of said groups being Bull and Marian. Snagging a double pepperoni for himself, the Qunari pulls Marian into a side room. "So..."

"I don't have answers," Marian warns. "But go ahead."

"I'll take vague ones if that's all you have," Bull replies as he sets the box down and opens it. _Piiizzzzaaa. Oh I've missed you baby._ "What kind of time table are we looking at here? For that artifact?"

"I don't know. Money's a problem. Family's a problem. And I'm exhausted, deep in my bones. They're safe, now. I want to ensure they're just as safe when I take hold of them. But I can't let someone else get there first. So. Soon but not immediately."

Bull rubs his chin, nodding slowly. "What're your thoughts on this babysitting plan?" he asks, then shoves half a slice in his mouth.

"We could plan our expedition for winter break. I think they're going to need the help."

"Not a big fan of the idea of leaving you here alone," he grumbles.

"I'm not moving to the UP."

"Hard agree," Bull says promptly, flashing a thumbs up. "More thinking that maybe Dalish and Grim hang here with you. They're, uh, not going to want to go either. For reasons."

_Grim? The empty one? We should fix him before he goes away. Just in case we can't find him again,_ Tanna suggests.

"Right— Tanna wanted to offer. We can fix Grim. If he wants. If you think he'd want that."

Bull's eyes widen and he goes still. "Fix?" he asks carefully.

"He can be... un-Tranquiled."

Bull exhales slowly. "How did you..?" He shakes his head. "Didn't realize you knew. Tanna can tell?"

_He doesn't want anything. No dreams or want in his soul. It's wrong. And weird and flat and boring. Icky._

"Yes." She swallows. "She doesn't know what it means, but she knows what he is." _You were in Clem, didn't you notice him being the same?_

_Yes. It was wrong. I tried not to touch him as much as I could_. Tanna sends a mental image of standing on tiptoes in a pool of offal while holding her nose and making faces.

"I will, uh, ask him about that," Bull says after a moment.

"Can he make a decision like that? I mean... do Tranquil ever want things?"

Bull hesitates again, studying her. "Keep this to yourself?" he asks quietly, then snorts. "Selves?"

"Of course," she assures him.

"Grim's Rite was botched. Even if you unTranquiled him, he'd be mute. Probably. I mean, fuck if I know how magic works. But he was... hurt. Badly hurt. A lot. Before. Not sure letting him feel things about that would be a kindness," Bull says tightly. "I'll offer, but I doubt he'll take it."

"Alright," she says gently. "That's no problem. We just wanted to offer. If Clem— well. It's too late now."

_Why would he not want to—_ Tanna abruptly cuts off. Well, her words anyway, as Marian clearly catches surging flood of shame before Tanna fades away from the front of their connection.

"Yeah. And if... Well. I could be wrong. Anyway. So." Bull clear his throat. "You sure you're fine with staying here?"

"No? I— I don't know. I'll manage."

"You should ask if the rest of your coven can hang out. Not like they lack things to do here," Bull suggests pointedly.

"I might," she admits. "If my advisor is here it's less like I've gone off the grid. And, it'd be nice to spend some time with Garrett. He's... he's had it harder than I thought," she admits. "We go back in December, and I'll head back to England after that, to turn in my dissertation and get my degree."

"As long as you make sure Pyro's 'boo' is invited, I doubt she minds doing her research and whatever here. I mean, come on. Who the hell would mind staying at a tropical beach house instead of some flat or whatever in dreary old England?"

Marian glances away, out a nearby window. _I miss my flat..._

"Aside from, whatchacallit, interverts evidently," Bull observes with a snort.

"It's not the location, just... my flat was mine. I made it just right."

"Nothing stopping you from getting a place here," Bull observes. "Just as long as there's a place nearby for the others to watch out from."

"If I plan to stay long-term, I will," she admits. "I need my own space. Preferably one my mother doesn't have keys to."

Smirking just a little, Bull presses on. "Or maybe a small house, a two bedroom one? One for an office for people to hole up if they need it, the other just the right size for you and a slip of an elf?"

_And me_ , Tanna grumbles, not commenting at all on her abrupt exit and just as unexplained return. _Though I suppose I don't exactly take up space..._

She pulls a face. "Maybe. If she doesn't dump me after that disaster of a date."

Bull cocks his head to the side. "Disaster? You want to talk about it? Maybe get some advice or just get it off your chest?"

She winces. "Just as we started getting into it, at the end of a great night, I freaked out and started sobbing. It was super embarrassing."

"And how did she react to that?" Bull probes. _Ain't no way that Daisy was anything but sympathetic and supportive. Not to you._

"She was great, but I really freaked her out. I wouldn't be surprised if she's having second thoughts."

"About not causing Petty Lice to gouge out her own eyes? Yeah, I figure she is," Bull says blandly. "Daisy isn't the type to abandon someone for having been hurt."

"No, but if we can't get physical without me carrying on like a child," she begins.

Bull stares at her. "Bahith, you were nearly raped," he says incredulously. "Less than two weeks ago! No-one with any kind of empathy or reason could fault you for not suddenly being peachy keen."

Marian glances away, reddening a little. "About that 'nearly'," she begins, before her courage deserts her.

And that increasingly familiar second-hand shame almost replaces the courage. Bull frowns, confused, but it only takes a few seconds before he clues in. "Oh Marian," he murmurs, stepping closer and spreading his arms in an offer. _How? When? Shit, during the attack in the House. Why didn't she— of course she didn't say anything. Qun forbid she focus on herself for a damn second when there's things needing to be done or someone else around._

She steps into him, letting him fold his arms around her, hold her close. "Sorry," she whispers.

"Nothing to apologize for, Bahith," Bull rumbles. "Ain't a soul in the history of ever that deserved that sort of thing happening to them. And you're not the first."

"It was Patrice," she whispers. "With Tann— with the desire demon riding her."

_Does it help at all that it was illusion?_ Tanna sends the words on the slimmest tendril she can manage, one throttled tightly to prevent any of her emotions from leaking through it. _She— I— There was no actual touching?_

"I... figured as much. Only time I could figure it happening," Bull replies, rubbing her back gently. "You, uh, up for talking about it? With me or... whoever?"

"It... it seems silly. There was no real touching; I was trapped in a dream, a dream woven by the desire demon. I went down there stupidly, on my own, and got caught, and this is what I get."

"Doesn't seem... Well, I guess maybe that's _better_ than having the memory and the, uh, event both. Or whatever. But you remember it happening, dream or not, so it's real enough to hurt you. Shit, you make it sound like words and ideas can't gut a man just as fatally as a blade."

"I mean, they literally can't..."

"Fine. Not directly, but ideas can kill a man's soul, leaving him one of the قلب فارغ. Uh, the empty... hearts? Not Tranquil, nothing to do with magic or the lack of it, just... dead inside. No purpose, no dreams or care left in them. A living death. That sort of person doesn't live and doesn't often survive long either."

Marian pulls back, looking down. "I... can understand the feeling," she says carefully.

"Yeah. I recognized the look," he says gently, letting her pull back but not letting go entirely yet. "Seen it far too many times, from both sides of the eyes."

"You?" she asks, her voice timid, something broken in it.

Meeting her eyes, he nods a little. "I spent four tours— sixteen years all told— acting as a 'counter-insurgent' specialist in Gaza," he says softly. Gaza being the bloodiest, most consistently war torn territory not just in the Qunari Empire but very possibly the world. "I'm one of the best," the warrior says simply, any pride in that fact long since ground down. "And I had a duty. So I kept doing my job. Over and over again, until I realized there was nothing left in me. I submitted myself for Reeducation. It... helped, but I still couldn't go back. So I was moved into, ah, an outreach program. Helping the Qun abroad, so to speak. Helping people, instead of just killing them."

Marian chews her lower lip, thinking that over a moment. finally, she says, "I'm sorry that happened."

"Not something I'm glad happened," Bull admits. "Not something I would want anyone to have to deal with. Just like I wouldn't want you to have to had to deal with this."

"I'll be fine."

"Bahith."

"I will. You're fine. I'll be fine too."

"Bahith. I'm fine because I got help. Because I made the changes I needed. Made friends. Found family."

"Well I have you. So I'll be fine." She darts a glance up at him, silently asking if that's correct.

"Damn right, ختي الصغيرة." He grins. "Little sister. If I do end up going with your siblings to school, I'll still only be a call away. And you won't be alone."

"Alright," she whispers. "And hey. It's not forever. We'll see each other in December."

"Shame you can't come with, but you're right that it wouldn't be even a touch safe." He clears his throat. "We should probably talk that all out with your dad and the kiddos."

"Yeah. I'd— I'd like it if you could stay. Let the others go to the UP. But if you can't that's okay."

"I plan to hang out a little while longer, see things settle a bit more. Until Uncle Dude is at least somewhat unsprung. Maybe see that your twin is safe."

"Yeah... I... I'm not... I'm not sure he's okay," she admits. "I'm not sure I'm okay either. Another reason I'm thinking I'll stay in town a while."

"The two of you did look pretty adorable that morning," Bull says with a grin. "And it's probably a very good thing for both of you to have more support. Him more than you, he's pretty much just got Uncle Dude, I think."

"And if you go, I'll just have... Merrill, I guess. Maybe Dagna." She shrugs. "We're twins. I guess... sometimes it's easy to forget that. But we belong together. I just wish the rest of my family belonged together too."

"And Wilds. Your dad seems like he's trying to do better. And there's Tanna."

"I— I guess so," she says, with a little wonder in her voice. "I guess I do have a new family. It's easy to forget."

"Tonight, before the twins jet off, we should get a picture. Uncle Dude, your twin, dad, the coven, Chargers, the lot."

"Yeah. I'd like that." She gives a shy smile, tucking some hair behind her ear.

Bull ruffles her hair with a broad grin. "You're a good kid."

_I'm older than his entire culture. Even if we average our ages..._ Tanna snickers a little, her humor restoring as Marian's mood improves. _Huh. It occurs to me that, if I'm understanding how you mortals weigh time correctly, then I might be older than all the newcomer races combined._

_Uh. You definitely are. That bubble is many times older than my entire race. That's how long dragons have been extinct._

There's a long pause. _Extinct?_ The word is small, fragile. _But I can— you knew what we were. What I was. We— we're all there is?_

_There are the eggs. But that's all there is left of dragons in the world. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't know._

_I didn't... I saw imagines of dragons, in your mind. I thought..._ Tanna flounders mentally. _I didn't want to pry. At least, not anymore than I already have. You seemed... uncomfortable with me doing too much without you involved and I didn't want to— I've hurt you enough._

_There used to be. Not— not like you knew them. But dragons, lesser cousins of yours. But we killed them all. I'm sorry._

_Why?_ Tanna asks very softly.

_They were huge, and vicious, and they killed people, and... and they scared us. On a deep, existential level. I'm sorry._

_People will be scared of us, won't they? Of our children?_

Marian takes a deep breath. _Yeah. Yeah they will. I'm sorry. I won't let them hurt the babies, as best I can, but... how long before the babies are grown?_

_Grown to what? To their /flesh quickens into fullness/ when they can defend themselves or when they're fully grown and destroy all that might threaten them?_ There's a low, almost savage wrath in her sending.

_Any. All._

_They will be small, smaller than Nymeria, for four years. Then they will grow. Rapidly. They will be larger than..._ She hums softy, then sends an image of Bull's massive pick-up truck. _Than whatever that's called in less than six month after they started growing. They will pause there for more years, three or four perhaps, then another growth spurt will leave them larger than the building Bull's— truck? Thank you. That he keeps his truck in. That growth spurt will end with their /flesh quickens into fullness/. Their final growth spurt will not be for several decades later; their size, power and /will infused into flesh/ will all quicken and mature during the third decade past their /flesh quickens into fullness/._

Marian whistles. _So I have time, then. I won't— in stories, they live for hundreds of years and don't get to be full grown until long after I'd have been dead._

_Time?_ Tanna asks with perplexity.

_I'm twenty-four, so figure six months to get the egg and what, a year to hatch, I'll be twenty-five? Then four years plus a growth spurt, that's thirty. Another four, thirty-four. A few decades after that I'll be sixty-four; by the time they're full sized, I'll be entering my old age._

_Do you not... I thought I mentioned—_ Tanna gives the impression of clearing her throat. _Aging is for other people now. You will live for as long as your will— and my magic— refuses death._ A beat. _And prevents anyone from killing you._

"That's an expression," Bull notes, having been entertaining himself with trying to guess what they're talking about just based on Marian's face.

"...I'm immortal."

Bull coughs loudly. Its rather similar to 'meh-sigh-uh' but more teasing.

"Andraste burned," she snaps. "And Mohammad died of illness." _Am I immune to fire or sickness?_

"Poison actually, but we don't like to admit that," Bull corrects her.

_Unless it's very magical, yes. Well. Hmmm. Your body is less durable than my old one. So you might not be able to have magma soaks but you could have sat inside the beach bonfire. And diseases are easy to stop, unless you make me not. Being sick is bad though, I don't like it so please don't? Most poisons too, it's easy to stop small things that are inside our own flesh._

"Yeah, I'm immune to all that."

"Does that mean you can't get drunk?"

_Like your father was? Why would you want to be?_ The spirit asks with horrified distaste. _No, we cannot be that. I've already fixed most of your accumulated flaws, way back near our Bonding, but I can do better. If you allow me, I mean._

_Please don't_! "Let''s find out," says Marian, grimly.

_Don't what? Find out what? Why are we poisoning ourselves?_ Tanna protests.

_Recreation. And don't change me any more than you have. Not without specific permission._

Tanna grumbles softly. _Being poisoned is fun? And can I make you harder to kill? Please?_

_How? In what ways?_

_Umm. Lots of them? There are all sorts of ways and things we could do. Are there any, umm, broad things you're interested in? Or things you're hard against having changed? Like... I know the theory and we're smart enough to figure out the rest of how to link other people lives to ours so they would die in our place if—_

"No!"

"No what?" asks Bull.

_I know, I know! That was an example of a 'hard against' remember! I would be pretty uncomfortable too. Unless they were Templar. But I'd rather just kill them._

"Andraste," she mutters. "Alright, enough, Tanna. Let me think about it. I can't— I can't handle this all at once."

_Can I improve your immune system? Maybe toughen your skin?_ she asks meekly.

_I'll think about it._

_Is there any information or explanation I can give to help your thoughts?_

"No, stop pushing me!" she hisses.

_I wasn't— I'm sorry, I just wanted to explain what I— I'm sorry. I'll be quiet again._ After that message, Tanna withdraws as promised.

"Hey, you alright?" Bull asks with concern, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"She's _constantly_ trying to change me, begging me to let her change my body more than she did when I was unconscious."

"I can see how that would grate," Bull says after a moment, nodding. "She seems... kind of overeager, like a puppy with a new toy sometimes."

"It's terrifying. Imagine being sure you were dead, and waking up.... _changed_ , instead."

"That, uh, wouldn't bother me as much as it does you, I think. For cultural reasons. But I can see the edges of it well enough."

"It's worse than the old Grey Wardens— at least they knew what they were getting into. I never consented to being changed. And I keep thinking she'll just get impatient and do it anyway."

_Stupid ass Wardens. Arrogant bastards._ Bull pushes that old, pretty rivalry out of mind. "Wait. _Can_ she? Change you without your permission now that you're awake and all?"

"Seems that way." _I mean, it is that way, isn't it?_

There's a pause, then a faint stirring from deep in her mind. Just a feeling, a sense of someone seeking permission (a flicker of Marian raising her hand in class to speak).

_What?_ asks Marian, frowning.

_I said I would be quiet but it felt like you were trying to reach me,_ Tanna explains in a whisper.

_Yes— can you change me without permission?_

There's a long pause, but Marian senses that it's more her actually considering the question, rather than if she should answer. _Yes and no,_ she finally replies. _I could try and force changes, but it's your body too. You could stop me if I tried. And you'd certainly notice if I made the attempt. Especially if it was a big change. Feeding you energy isn't really a change and wouldn't have worked at all if you weren't entirely in the, umm, Fade when I did it. I could maybe sneak past some really tiny changes if you were distracted at the time but I won't. It would be wrong. You're my Bonded, my Love, my family._

_You changed me before. When I was asleep._

_The pool wasn't made for your flesh. I had to do something after you started to dissolve. And you were super out of it. Plus... when I started I wasn't me. She-I was making you like her but I didn't want... that. So I made your flesh closer to True instead_. There's a long, hesitant pause. _I could maybe revert you. If I could study what human bones should be like. But it would make you weaker. And hurt. A lot._

_It's... probably okay. But it scares me. I don't want— I don't want to not be human anymore._

_I'm sorry. But... you aren't. Not really. We're Bonded. Evanuris was your word, remember? Spirit and mortal entwined._

_I know. But you know I didn't want to be this. Give me time to get used to it. Alright?_

_Tell me if I can help? Even if you're not sure? I... I know I get impatient. It's hard, to be so close to having Love and Bond again, after so long alone. I know I can't rush things, that it took Scelaeyricla and I years to merge completely— and he sought it out, knew what it would mean as best as one that has not done it before can— but it's so hard to let it happen. I'm sorry._

_You just can't keep pressuring me all the time. You're already more inside me than anyone's ever been; I can't deal with you constantly pressuring me to change, to be more like your old partner. I can't. You have to let me be **me**. Understand?_

_I do,_ Tanna says, a touch sullenly. _I didn't choose this either you know. Even other me didn't. You threw us into the pool. I don't blame you and I'm happy to have you as my Bonded but... I'll try not to push nearly as much but can you try to talk to me more? Be my partner, not just... ignore me until you need something?_

_"It's been, what, three days? Since we got back? And you're always pushing me. Look, I'll try, but you remind me of the person who raped me, even if you're not her. And you live in my head, all the time in my head."_ She doesn't realize she's speaking aloud until she wipes the tears from her eyes, hears her voice echo back. "I just need time. Please. This is harder on me than it is on you."

Tanna is quiet for a moment, trying to push past the anger that wants to rise at Marian's declaration. To not to feel jealous as she gets the distant, second-hand sensation of Bull pulling Marian back into a hug. _I can try to sleep again_ , she finally says. _Sink to the bottom of your mind. It'll hurt us, slowly, but I can do that for... maybe eight days? No more than that for sure. You'll have to push hard, maybe pulse your magic to get my attention, if you need me back before then._

_Not for eight days_ , she protests. _Maybe... can you do twelve hours at a time? Twelve hours in my own head would be lovely, and then I'll spend some real time with you tomorrow, after I've slept and all that. Or maybe we can spend some time just chatting in my dream? Can you make that happen? I do want to get to know you better. Maybe you'll sound less like her if I do._

_Really?_ There's a burst of happiness at Marian's reply despite the thinness of their connection at the moment. _I can do that! We can dream together, then, then I'll go quiet during the day? For a few days? Then maybe I can be quiet for just a few hours every day, when you first get up? Or whenever!_

_That would be nice. We can ease into it, figure out how much I can tolerate at once, and slowly increase it over time until I can handle 24/7. That'd be great._

_That sounds doable, assuming that 24/7 means what I think it does. I think Scelaeyricla valued his mental privacy a lot less than you do; maybe a racial thing? I didn't realize how much it was bothering you. Even if you always need a little time by yourself, that would be fine._ There's a pause, then a sense of Tanna considering something. _When things are less dangerous, could I sing? For my version of me-time. I miss singing._

_Is there any way I can let you control the body? We could take singing lessons, make ourselves better at it_ , Marian offers.

_Oh, yes, that's what I meant. Lessons to learn how to sing with human mouths sounds very helpful. You only have two lungs and your tongue can barely move!_

_Yes, for sure. And next time I'm in the shower, I'll call you, and show you how I do it. So you can get the basics ahead of time_. "So I need a singing teacher," she begins to Bull, opening her eyes at last. "We've worked out a compromise. I'm going to get more time in my head, alone, and she's going to take singing lessons, with daily practice sessions. And I think I'll take up meditation."

_I am really fighting the urge to verbally note that singing was the pastime of the Blessed Prophet and thus a Sacred Activity according to the Hadith._ "Sounds good," he replies instead, smiling encouragingly. "Might want to carve out some time, even just fifteen minutes or so, dedicated to talking over your... balance. Discuss any new problems, double check you're both on the same page. Had a friend that married a Dalish guy that did that. He was Tal-Vashoth, sure, but he was raised under the Qun and had a very different viewpoint than his husband. Worst argument they ever had was because of a cultural blind-spot about gardens. Once they realized the problem, it took less than five minutes to work out, but they were fighting over it for more than a week because they just didn't realize the other was missing a small detail to make things make sense."

_I think I really like الثور الحديدي,_ Tanna remarks speculatively. _Is he going to be your breeding aid?_

"I'msorrymy **what**?!"

_Is there another word for it in your culture?_ Tanna asks curiously. _You prefer females like Merrill and Morrigan, so you'll need a breeding aid to have young. الثور الحديدي is strong and wise and he cares for you and your mate. He would do well for the task. Or would you prefer that your nestmate serve so your blood is shared?_

_Wonder if Seeker would be willing to make like a hand sign or something whenever she gets into a conversation with Tanna_? Bull muses as he waits again.

"No, I do not intend to ask Bull to be my— my _sperm donor_ , are you _serious_?"

Bull coughs loudly. "Sorry what?" _The fuck? An actual fuck, evidently?_

"New rule, Tanna, warn someone before you ask sex questions," manages Marian.

Marian feels a wave of confusion. _Is there something wrong with sex?_ Then a wince. _Oh. Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean too remind— I'm sorry._

_It's not that. Sex is private and personal, and we don't like answering a lot of questions about it._

_Oh. Huh. That's interesting. Birthing eggs and, umm, marriage flights are private but otherwise dragons, real ones, don't hide from sex. Are there any other topics I should warn you about bringing up? Or not mention to people if I'm manifesting?_

_Childbirth is a good one. Weddings are public, that's fine. Stuff that people are clearly sensitive about. Sad things. Death. That kind of thing are all private._

"Still a bit curious about that sperm donor thing," Bull says brightly, eyes a bit wide.

"Fuck, I said that out loud? Sorry. She was asking if I was going to use you as a sperm donor for Merrill and my kids and, first of all, way too soon, and secondly we're now having a chat about sexual privacy."

Bull snickers a little as the panic melts out of him. "Tell you what, if you're both more comfortable with it, I'd be willing to answer questions about that sort of thing. Can you hear through that illusion deal?"

_Umm, not normally but I could make it do that if you gave me like... six times as much mana to work with?_

"Possible, but a bit of a waste unless you really don't want me hearing. I might be a bit embarrassed but I'll live."

"Just wasn't sure if you wanted to overhear Sexplainations from me, given..." Bull coughs. "Well, that party. And the aftermath."

She flushes. "Right. About that..."

Bull gestures at her to ask as Tanna sends a hint of curiosity. _I thought sex stuff is private? Why are you asking الثور الحديدي about his sex things with your father?_

"Look, I don't know anything about this agreement. But he's _married_ to my _mother_. I really can't... I can't deal with him cheating on her, and with one of my best friends? That's so insensitive and—"

"Evidently she's been cheating on him for years," Bull cuts in. "He wouldn't say with who, but evidently it's still ongoing. So they negotiated an open marriage. I get the impression he wants a divorce but can't for some reason. Probably the twins or something."

_Divorce?_

_Um, the breaking of a life pairing? I guess?_ "My parents are breaking up," she says numbly. "I don't— fuck."

A ripple of concern and sympathy washes over Marian. _I'd be happy to each your father some attack spells, ones your mother can't possibly know how to counter or defend against._

Bull rubs his broken horn. "Yeah... sorry."

"Is that what he meant by blackmail material? He's going to get a divorce? Or— or is he going to not get a divorce so he can protect us?"

Bull shrugs. "No idea, he didn't exactly sit down and explain it all out. You'd have to ask him."

"Right. I'll talk to him. Thanks again, Bull." She leans forward on her tiptoes, planting a kiss along Bull's jaw— the closest she can get to his cheek.

"Always," he rumbles, pressing a kiss of his own to the top of her head. "You want backup for this talk?"

"Yeah. That'd be nice. Thanks."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Varric's house, Marian and Bull are having a chat that they realize needs to turn into a chat with Malcolm. All of the above are present for an intervention of sorts; Varric is having a hard time since he was kidnapped and tortured, and Garrett is downstairs with him helping him recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic sex, incest, blackmail, divorce

It only takes a few minutes to find Mal and extract him from his discussion with Dr. Aldane. Soon enough, the trio are holed back up in the side room, Bull busying himself with opening up bottles of hard cider for them all.

"So, Dad," begins Marian, awkwardly. "This blackmail material... does it have to do with Mom?"

"I'm not at liberty to—"

"Cut the crap. In case you forgot, I saw you and Bull at that party. It's possible _she_ has blackmail material on _you_. So if your plan is just to blackmail her..."

"We swept the beach house solid, no cameras or the like there," Bull offers. "So we're clear on that angle at least."

"And the material I am gathering on her is considerably more... Ahem. Compromising," Malcolm admits. "More than enough to get the in-laws to back off the pair of you."

"And get a divorce for you, right?" When Malcolm doesn't respond, she adds, "Right?"

_Divorces aren't the same as a severing, I'm starting to think. It sounds like he's trying to bargain her away?_ Tanna asks, in the silence that follows.

_Divorce can be complicated that way, yes._ "Dad..."

"Don't get me wrong. If it's possible, I'll do it. But you children come first. You always have, and you always will."

_I'm guessing he's not allowed to just fight her to the death? This idea of being able to just fly away from a soured match sounds like it might have been nice but sometimes you just need to rip their throat out._

"Does _she_ want to stay married?" Bull asks diffidently.

"Yes," Mal replies.

_We don't kill each other. It's not allowed,_ Marian replies.

_We've killed lots of people already_ , Tanna objects, not accepting that as a fact for an instant.

"To clarify, wants to stay married or wants to not have a divorce?"

"She wants the benefits of being married," explains Malcolm.

"Any chance she can marry the side piece? Or some other poor fuck?" A beat. "Well, rich fuck I guess."

"No. That would be out of the question. I suspect that's why she was so eager to marry me, in fact."

"Wait, wait, wait," says Marian, distracted from her attempt to explain murder and what jail is to Tanna. "The whole time? My whole life? Are you sure I'm—"

"I had your blood tested when you were in the hospital. You're my daughter."

"She needs cover," Bull theorizes. _Probably one of the staff or something. Someone 'unsuitable' or whatever._

"That is my assumption as well." Malcolm sighs. "There are worse fates than being wed to someone I no longer care for. I will not sit by and let my children suffer such fates. Again, if I can get all of it, I will."

Bull rubs his chin. "Sounds like you could pull it off, if you're willing to pull some extra work and maybe take some hits. Find her a new boyfriend of 'suitable whateverthefuck' for cover and then give her a palatable reason to divorce you. Go full pagan or something; their side of the family is real devout, right?" He snickers a little. "Do you have a few minutes to talk about the good Qun?"

Mal snorts. "No offense but I'd go atheist before Qun."

"Not the first time I've gotten that response" Bull assures him with a laugh. "But given your daughter, special allowances could be made for you to be Qun in name only, in public. Or Daisy could maybe hook you up with an elven god, I guess."

_What's a god?_ asks Tanna.

"Are you converting?" asks Malcolm, turning to his daughter.

"Thinking about it," she admits. _A god is, you know, a god. Like the Maker. Or the elven gods. Someone you worship._

_Maker? Of what? What's worship?_

_Of— of everyone. Everything. The whole world._

Tanna giggles merrily. _That's really funny. But seriously, of what?_

_What? No, seriously. That's what the Maker made. Everyone. The whole world. First the dragons, then humans._

Tanna falls silent, the lack of response a solid weight in Marian's mind. _What. No. Just no._

Seeing her father about to speak, Marian lifts a hand to stop him. "Hang on. What, Tanna?"

_No-one **made** the world. Or spirits. We've always existed. We just never went to the world before /truest flesh and blood/ was noticed. Because /proper plane of existence/ is so much better, except that mortals don't live there._

"No, the Maker made the world. And the spirits, and the Fade. The elves believe Mythal and Elgar'nan and them made everything, but I don't think that's true."

Tanna makes a raspberry noise in Marian's head. _What's the Maker even like? Where does it live? What's it doing?_

_He is patient and kind and understanding, but He has turned away from our foulness, because we have displeased Him. He lived in the Golden City of Heaven, you used to be able to see it from the Fade, but we entered and corrupted it into the Black City of Hell. So to save what He could, the Maker scooped up the still pure half the city and fled with it, protecting it from us. Sinners go to the Black City when they pass, but those the Maker can stand to be around get to go to the Golden City and be by His side. Only one living mortal has caught His attention in centuries: Andraste, the Bride of the Maker. But we killed her, and He turned His back on us forever._

_That's dumb,_ Tanna says bluntly. _Dead mortals don't go to the city, they rot and turn into dirt stuff for plants to eat. Well, some of them become spirits, sorta. But mostly dirt stuff. And I've never heard of him or either of these cities. They certainly didn't exist when I lived in your Fade._

"Hey, I want a turn to tell her about the Qun," Bull puts in.

"Fine, go ahead." _You saw the City when we were in the Fade, remember? It was floating up in the sky. Big black city with a scoop taken out of it._

_So? There's all sorts of cites reflected in the Fade these days. Your races are very avid dreamers. And there's so many of you! I think there are ten times more humans on this island than all the /truest flesh and blood/ I ever met. What proves this particular city is special?_

_Because you can see it from every point in the Fade. Because the Maker lives there._

_Every point in— there's no city that does that. The Egg is like that, but eggs aren't cities. Cities are just clumps of made caves._

_What egg?_

_The Egg. You know, the Egg? Giant Egg the size of a great mountain made of gleaming sunlight and white fire? It's always halfway between you and forever in the /proper plane of existence./_

_No, that sounds like the Black City. Maybe... maybe the Egg hatched into a city?_

_Ummm. Maybe? Plausible enough_ , the spirit agrees after a moment's thought, not seeing anything particularly weird about cities coming out of eggs. _I can't recall anyone ever saying anything about some 'god' thing living inside the Egg though. Maybe your Maker hatched from it and built a city out of the shell? Or a city similar to his old egg? Or I suppose she could have laid the egg, the built a City for whatever came out?_

_That's all possible. I never thought about the Maker being a dragon before. But regardless, the Maker made the first dragons and all the spirits. So._

_So you say,_ Tanna says, not buying it from her 'tone.' _Doesn't matter anyway. He's not the boss of me._

"—a place for every yogurt. Of course, the periwinkle flavor ones reign supreme among the prophets and spirits that are rudely ignoring their wise and handsomely rugged friend slash mentor. Furthermore, there remains the ways of juice and alluring bacon that must be addressed—" declares Bull, tone deadpan.

"Sorry," admits Marian. "We're having an intense discussion about whether the Maker exists, which I figured you'd want me to win given He authored your Qun."

Bull stares. "Yeah," he allows carefully. "She, uh, she claims He doesn't?" _That's a bad look for a Messiah._

"She has some interesting information about the Golden City, and uh, she says even if he exists he's not the boss of her, so. That's. Interesting."

_Petrice followed this Maker being_ , Tanna recalls abruptly. _And she did what she did sorta because of what he said. So he's a pile of rotten sludge and I hate him. So there._

"...also she hates him," concludes Marian.

"Can't say I disagree," mutters Malcolm.

"That's awkward, just a little," Bull allows. _Fuuuuuuuuuuck._ "She have a reason for that?"

"Petrice."

"Ah. Entirely fair." Bull coughs softly as he tries to think of something. "Might I point out that the Qun lacks Templar? And has a zero tolerance policy for rape in the form of gelding? Chemically these days but still."

Tanna goes quiet at the word 'rape' and the feeling of shame, never absent these days, strengthens a little. Marian drops her head, cheeks burning, trying not to look at her father.

Malcolm frowns, his eyes hard. "An interesting example."

Bull pauses. "Uh. Shit."

When Marian says nothing, Mal says quietly, "I read a transcript of the call you made to Varric. I know what she tried. It's alright. As you said, you survived. You're okay."

Bull gives him an approving look. "Damn right. One of the strongest people I've ever met."

"What? Who?" stammers Marian. "I'm not strong at all."

"You came home," says Malcolm, with a quiet intensity. "That's all I could have ever asked of you. You survived, you came home. You killed them first. That's strength."

"B-bull. That's Bull's fault. I mean. Thank him, not me."

"Best artist in the world can't make a masterpiece from shitty rocks," Bull says with a firm nod. "You're young yet, but you got a core of the finest diamonds in you." He frowns. "That woulda sounded a lot better in Arabic."

She snorts. "I'm the dumbass who walked into the arms of a Despair demon," she snaps.

"Do I want to know?" asks her father.

"Okay, let's be fair: we all thought we were going to die, you had just been sexually assaulted by a priestess of your faith that was being coached by a desire demon on how to break you and had been organizing the entire expedition unpaid and under-appreciated . Plus it was hiding in a meat locker, which is just cheating really."

"Still. I know better."

"It can be challenging to resist the lure of spirits," admits Malcolm. "Especially when you resonate with their Concept."

"Also I'm apparently a medium," adds Marian.

"Congratulations. Or should it be condolences?" asks Mal. "I had hoped I had avoided passing on that little quirk to both of you."

"Wait, you're a— and you didn't think that might be important to know?" Marian hisses.

_You're very easy to notice,_ agrees Tanna. _It's nice. It's almost like your flesh and bone are closer to true than the others. One of the many things that makes you best._

"I am many things that I do not care to share with my children," Malcolm says, his tone cooling.

"Might want to revisit that list, given recent events," Bull suggests politely.

"Perhaps," he says, giving Marian an appraising look.

"I trust Bull with my life. Anything you can say to me, you can say to him. Tanna, too."

Malcolm glances to Bull, then, considering. "I was put in a circle," he says, finally. "My parents left me there when I was fifteen. I didn't escape for three years. It was my spirit friends that helped me get free— hiding what I am, what I can do, has become a way of life."

Bull rubs his chin, nodding slowly. Then frowns. "You got a spirit friend in your head too?"

_No, I would notice,_ Tanna says with conviction. _At least, not right now. He does feel funny though._

"No. But I have had close spirit friends in the past."

_Close as in 'close' or_ 'close' _I wonder?_ muses Bull. "Betcha none of them have a tenth as many surprises as our Tanna," Bull says with a grin, causing a pulse of surprised happiness from Tanna.

"I'm willing to take that bet," says Mal with a small smirk.

_May I?_

_Let's not tell him yet,_ worries Marian.

_Just one thing?_ Tanna begs, wanting to prove الثور الحديدي right after he included her as one of his own. Marian sighs, releasing a bit of mana. A heartbeat later, Tanna's new form as a spirit appears in front of Malcolm. Modest chest, narrow waist, flared hips, broad shoulders and a few inches over six foot. Horns curl from her head, though they seem more draconic than demonic. She has wings as well, feathered dragon wings, to match the digitigrade feet with their blunt talons. Her hands are far more human than before, despite the extra finger, all slim and quadruple jointed. In place of hair, feathered tendrils reach her ankles and her body is nude save for a layer of soft, pale lavender down on her belly, throat and inner thighs. The rest of her is covered in iridescent scales that throw back the overhead light in a dazzling display. She waves excitedly, not having enough mana available for both image and sound creation.

Mal's eyebrows reach for his hairline. "Well. That's. What kind is she?"

"Good question," Bull remarks. "Never did ask that, though I guess I could guess based on her name."

The illusionary form preens a little, then winks at Malcolm before collapsing into a tiny mote. "My name is Tantalizing Dreams, though my Love has gifted me with the use name of Tanna. My Concepts are the Lure of Seeking Discovery, The Need to Understand that which is Unknown and The Joy of Finding. I cannot wait to find out what I shall become alongside my Love!"

"Please don't call me that," says Marian, quietly. "Marian is fine."

"This is... Curiosity, isn't it?" he says, slowly. "Old. Very old."

A soft sadness and regret washes around Marian. _As you wish... Marian._ "I used to be that, yes. I think so anyway? It's much harder to remember things that happened while not Bonded. Particularly before my first Bonding."

"Fascinating," says Malcolm, studying the mote. "And you say you've bonded thrice? To whom?"

The mote giggles, the colors shifting wildly. "People." she singsongs, still giggling. "Your daughter said I couldn't tell anyone yet. I think she wants to bake a surprise cake or something?"

"...Alright," he says, hesitantly. "I knew a spirit like you once. A Compassion spirit. Decades and decades old, living in the Fade. I called him, Always Sides with the Underdog."

"Compassions are lovely," Tanna says brightly. "But you didn't know a spirit like _me_. I'm special. Very special."

"She's clearly not a Spirit of Humility," Bull says, snickering.

"So was he. But go on."

"Super special. Wonderfully special. Pretty special— that one's a pun, which is a play on words. Because I'm also pretty in a beauty way."

"Clearly." Mal doesn't sound amused.

There's a pause. "Marian, I don't think your sire likes puns," she whispers.

"I got that impression, yes."

"Should I try a dirty joke? Dagna taught me so—"

"No! No, thank you, that's fine."

"I am slightly curious as to whether she understands the point of dirty jokes," Bull mutters to Mal. "But also worried if she does."

"She does," admits Marian with a wince. "She's a lesbian."

"Spirits tend not to have a gender," suggests Malcolm.

"Stupid spirits maybe. But _I'm_ Bonded."

"Do you have a gender, then?"

"Female," Tanna says promptly. "Mostly. Sometimes we feel male. Well, dude-like."

"We?" asks Marian.

"You see, she's nonbinary. You can't expect a spirit to have a human-like gender," says Mal.

"You and I," Tanna explains. "Mostly we feel female but sometimes we feel like a dude. More aggressive, fed up with the bullshit of being meek and polite. We wish we could be more like الثور الحديدي, who just does what he wants. Oh! That reminds me, I could— whoops, that's a private thing." _You wanted me to warn you before saying stuff about sex. So. Warning. But I wanted to mention that we could illusion up a dick if you want, for those times you want one._ She refrains from mentioning that she could flesh-shape one as well.

Marian reddens. "Will you stop that?!" she hisses. "I'm a girl! Woman!"

"That's probably something sensitive, Tanna," Bull says gently. "We should drop it until and unless Bahith wants to bring it up herself."

Malcolm frowns. "Besides, spirits often don't understand gender the same way. So it's not necessarily the case. Still, I will leave that to you two to figure out."

_Sorry...._ "Umm, yeah. My previous host was... male. And, umm, kind of like الثور الحديدي is. So I'm probably just getting mixed up," she agrees rapidly. "Sorry. I'm really excited to talk to people and... Sorry."

_I'm like a dragon? Hell yeah!_ Bull's face stretches into an enormous grin.

"So you change genders when you change hosts?" asks Mal.

"I change lots," Tanna replies. "I like different things. I feel different ways about things. Like reading. Reading is great but I never used to read with my previous hosts. But I love it now. And meat tastes entirely different. Oh! And we feel differently about killing people. That's bad now. I even feel guilty about it. Sorta. Sometimes."

"It sounds like you have very little preference of your own, aside from what your host likes," says Mal. "How long have you been unbonded? Are you certain this is healthy for you?"

"Why would we be not healthy?" Tanna asks, puzzled. "This is right." The mote spins. "Marian is also healthy, in case you care by the way."

"Of course I care. But a spirit such as yourself is unlikely to do her harm. She is more likely to harm you. And spirits are not often bonded to humans. It is likely to do great harm."

The mote winks out for a second as a spike of guilt hits Marian. _A spirit maybe but—_ The emotion dampens and the mote reappears. "You're wrong. This is right. I am made so much better because of my Marian. She is a marvelous Bonded."

"Just be careful," Mal advises his daughter. "Be sure to keep your sense of curiosity whole and healthy. Do what you have to to remain curious and open-minded while she's in you. If you can't, if you find yourself getting bitter and jaded, you have to part ways."

_Ummm. Should we..?_

"Yeah, that's not an option. She's welded in there. She's not coming out."

Mal's eyebrows shoot for the sky once more. "You— right. Alright. That's— just be careful. Beyond careful. I'd hate to see you trapped with a demon."

"That's much harder to happen with us," Tanna rushes to assure Malcolm. "Because of how we're Bonded. It's special. And I'm better at changing than most spirits because I've already changed before. It would take, umm, something really, really big to turn me b— into a demon. Like Marian dying. That would do it."

"You.. are aware she will die someday, right?"

_Not as soon as he's figuring_. "True but that's far in the future. Very, very far if I have any say in it. And also, I'll have had time to settle."

"I can't say I disapprove of someone working to save my daughter's life," admits Mal, turning back to Marian. "You're quiet— are you alright?"

"Fine," she says, a little subdued. _He really does seem to care. Imagine that._

"It's been hard for her," Tanna says quietly. "I've done this before, she's never even heard of it really. It's... I'm not very patient."

"If you ever need another medium to talk to, please come to me. I'd be honored to help."

Marian shrugs a shoulder. "Sure. Okay." Bull clears his throat, giving Marian a look. Marian glances at him. "What? I said okay."

"You spoke the word 'okay' but what you said was 'not a chance.' Might not have meant that but..."

"Well what do you expect? You've never been there before," she accuses Malcolm.

"I'm trying to be here now. I can't change the past, Marian."

"Why weren't you around before?" Tanna asks with innocent curiosity.

"I thought it best to keep out of the way. Their mother clearly adored them, and it seemed... I am not the most emotionally stable person. I have struggled, in the past, with self-control, with resilience. I did not want to frighten them, or teach them bad habits."

"Oh. That sounds difficult," Tanna says softly, a pang of pity hitting her. "What changed?"

"I almost lost both of them," he says quietly. "I can't let things go on as they are. I've been told you need a father more than you need me to be stable, so, here I am."

"Death has that impact a lot of the time, even near misses," Bull agrees in a bleak tone. "Takes some balls to own up like this too."

_Balls?_ "Children do better with all their parents," Tanna says carefully.

Marian stares at her father, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Oh," she says, quietly. _I've misjudged him. I thought he disapproved. But he was kissing a man, wasn't he? And he... maybe he did care, all this time. Misguided, but maybe he did care._

Bull glances at Marian briefly. "So you fine with her life choices?" he asks bluntly, willing to take the lead and be a little rude for her sake.

"Of course. I've never been less than proud of her."

The feel of a warm, comforting hug wells up inside Marian. It's a familiar feeling in fact, a mix of Merrill and Iron Bull; Merrill's soft warmth and Bull's protective comfort. "I—" begins Marian, her voice hoarse. She wipes at her eyes, then says angrily, "You couldn't have shown it?"

"You're right. I'm sorry," replies Malcolm. "I just... didn't think it would mean much."

"Well, now you understand better," Tanna puts in quickly, wanting to keep the momentum. "You should hug her. Hugs are great. So are kisses."

"Nonono, that's— it's fine, I don't really... hug." Marian gives a weak smile.

Malcolm tilts his head a little, looking at her. "Your mother always hugs you when you come home."

"Yeah, when she wants to make a show. When she's feeling less charitable, she won't touch me."

"I am— I am truly sorry. I had no idea she would... change, as we grew older."

"Did she get sick? Mind sick?" _Do you think we should offer to help heal her?_

"I'm not certain; that's between her and her therapist— mind-healer, in your terminology."

Marian shakes her head ever so slightly. _No. Leave her be. She hasn't asked for our help, and I'm not sure I even care. She never cared much about me, after all. And I'm not sure I believe him that she's changed, either._

_Thera-phist_ , Tanna echoes, tone fascinated. _We had nothing like such a profession. Then again, there were far, far fewer of us so we didn't specialize anywhere near as much._ "I sorrow for your loss then. She is a harm to my Marian, and you, in the present but you would not have mated with her if you had not loved her once. Breathing she might be, you are a widow."

A flash of emotion crosses Mal's face, enough to frighten Marian a little: naked grief, fear, then a bit of wonderment. "...Thank you," he says, as the wonder wins out. "Did Marian coach you on that?"

A feeling of confusion echoes into Marian. "On what?"

"What you said, just now. Did you pluck that from her mind?"

"No? She, umm, wasn't thinking anything like that. I just— my last Bonded, we were mated. We died, knowing our mates would likely die as well, along with our— our unborn children. It hurts. It hurts so much." The light of the mote dims as it shifts from a bright yellow to a duller brown.

Malcolm bows his head a moment, struggling to reign in his deep-seated grief. "...I apologize. I had the wrong of it. You're far more advanced than even my spirit friend."

"Tanna's a bit of a rare case evidently," Bull says softly, resting a hand on Mal's shoulder. "She's no mortal but she's a person through and through."

"So is Underdog," he says, "but he has a mind like a child: open, compassionate, inquisitive, but struggling to grasp more complex concepts." _Like love, and grief._

"Underdog?" Tanna asks curiously, preening a little inside Marian's mind at all the compliments and support, those emotions a welcome distraction from her grief.

"Always Sides with the Underdog. My oldest spirit friend."

"Oh right, nicknames. Like I'm Tanna." The mote bobs a little. "Nicknames are fun." _Dragons never used them. Shortening a dragon's name would be an insult, because names describe a person and by shortening it, you would be declaring that you think them less than what they are._

"I suppose they are," says Marian. "Are we settled, then?"

"We did wander a bit," Bull allows. "But it sounds like Mal has a plan that he's just waiting for the other party to trigger. As long as he keeps us updated— particularly if you need help— then I think we're good, yeah. Well. You ever run a game like this? Blackmail?"

"Never when it's this personal. I'd love advice."

"Multiple copies," Bull says instantly. "At least three places, four is better but no more than five. Too many moving parts. One to two go to trusted holders with full instructions, a third neutral party like a bank or the like with instructions to send it somewhere it'll be revealed and a hidden place only you know about. You mentioned video; get some stills to show. Start with the hard shots, but have a half dozen or so to show off. Let them keep the stills, so they have to face it. Don't waver. Do it at a public place if you're real worried about getting vanished, go private but not their powerbase if they'll explode and ruin it."

"The copies I knew, and the trusted backup. And let them know when and where I'll be meeting, in case I vanish. Stills are a good plan. Really professional."

"Good. One to ten, with one being a puppy and ten being a demon-ridden Templar, how worried about your target are you?"

"Twelve. But I'll be fine."

"You want someone to come with? A bodyguard type someone?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt. But he'll have to be discreet."

"Krem can handle it if it's in the next few days then," Bull says with a nod. "He's the best at playing nice."

"It's not the playing nice, it's the not telling anyone what's said part. Juicy gossip, you understand. Could make a man quite rich."

"And fuck over Bahith," Bull adds. "Not gonna happen." There's not a hint of doubt in his voice on the matter; and a great deal of respect and affection in his glance at Marian.

"Alright, then. I'm glad for the assist."

"Dad," says Marian, slowly. "I think... don't you think Krem is a good role model for Carver? They should spend time together while the Chargers are guarding the twins."

"I have to confess I don't know him," admits Mal. "But if you think they'd get along, I'm all for it."

Bull tilts his head to the side. "That's... Yeah. If I'm catching what you're hinting at, I think Krem would love to be able to support someone the way he would have liked when he was Carver's age."

"I'll talk to him. Let him know how cool Krem is. Guy's part dragon now, that's bound to catch his attention."

"...he what?" asks Mal.

"Metaphorically speaking."

"Magical accident," Bull explains at the same time as Marian.

"He is not a dragon," Tanna assures Malcolm a beat behind the other two.

"...right. I'm going to get more pizza." Mal shakes his head, a rueful grin on his face. "Krem can tell me or not, his choice."

"Wait, here, before you go..." Bull pulls out his phone so the two can exchange contact information. "Just message Krem with when and where, I'll brief him so he'll be ready whenever."

"Alright. And thank you again."

"You're Bahith's dad. And an alright dude in your own right. No worries. Now, about that pizza..."

* * *

After everything that occurred, spending a few hours having pizza and just chatting about random, unimportant bullshit was like manna from the Maker to Malcolm. And getting to drive his Audi back to the office just made the entire afternoon complete. He spends a half hour catching up on business, mostly just typical paperwork, then logs into his private computer. Which instantly informs him that the motion activated cameras in Leandra's room are recording. He only hesitates a moment, just long enough to secure his office, before bringing up the feed with only a few keystrokes. And then feels deeply nauseous even faster.

Leandra and Gamlen are oriented sideways across the bed, putting them neatly in profile to the camera. Gamlen's face is smooshed against the mattress, face towards the camera and eyes closed in bliss. His arms are bound behind his back as he rests on his knees. Mal's wife, also completely nude, has one hand pumping away underneath her twin brother while the other works between her own legs. Most of her face is hidden from the camera as she nuzzles away between his cheeks, but enough is visible to recognize her.

Mal makes a face, turning away instantly. _Maker. I still didn't want to believe it, but..._

A few minutes later, his second glass of scotch nearly drained, he risks a glance back. _Are they done yet?_

Gamlen is just getting 'done' in fact when he looks back, something made clear as his twin pulls her mouth away from rimming Gamlen to clean her hand. Before Mal can look away, Leandra pushes Gamlen over and starts licking her way up his body.

A third glass of Scotch later, Mal leans back in his chair, ruminating about all the things "good girls" won't do, and thus, his wife refused to do with him. _Maker. I need to get laid._

He texts Bull a moment later: _By the way— coffee tomorrow?_

_Not much for coffee. What're your thoughts on ice cream and hook-up sex?_

_Perfect_ , he sends back, and busies himself setting up the logistics until the light goes off on his monitor.

_Thank the Maker_ , he sighs, and goes about quickly saving off multiple copies, encrypting them, distributing them to his various safe drop boxes. One he saves off onto a USB drive, intending to drop it at the bank; he pauses, however, before sending one to Varric, worried about the Shirén's mental state.

So instead, he picks up the phone and calls Aveline, yet again opening with "Is this line secure?"

There's a pause, then, "I'll call you back." The line goes dead, then a few moments later, rings with a blocked number. "I got a new encrypted line," she explains without preamble. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yes, it's good news today." Mal smiles, just a touch, out of reflex. "Listen, can I ask my friend Aveline a favor, and not get Captain Vallen involved? I'm not asking you to break any oaths or bend your ethics, I just don't want to escalate to the police yet."

That gets a pause longer than the first, though he can still hear her on the other end. "I am... willing to listen to a hypothetical request to start."

"I'm going to battle against my father-in-law," he says, his voice quietly intense. "The kind with words, not the kind with guns," he amends hastily. "I'm going to arrange a meeting. I need two things: you need to hold onto a file for me, in case I get hacked, in as secure a location as you can manage; and secondly, I'll send you the meeting details, and I will text you an all clear when I leave. If you don't get that all clear, Captain Vallen can get involved. And you'll have the file as ammo."

Aveline sucks in a sharp breath, then exhales slowly. "I see. I'll assume that the file is legal paperwork," she adds carefully. "When are you doing this?"

"Today, if possible. He's going after my children. I have to move to block him."

"Alright. I can met you somewhere. And maybe get coffee somewhere nearby, just in case."

"I have to stop by First National," he says. "How about the Starbucks on the corner?"

"On Fourth? That'll be fine. I'll order you a mocha latte." _Shit, he's going to think..._

"...sure," he says slowly. _She noticed my coffee order? I'm... touched, honestly._ "That sounds great," he adds. "And when I get a time and date, I'll text you immediately."

_He didn't say anything? Don't question it. Hopefully he assumes it was a guess. Or that I have people spying on him._ Aveline takes a few seconds after saying goodbye to mourn that she's so off balance that she's hoping someone is assuming she's spying on him rather than realizing she just pays too much attention to details about him. Thankfully, she has a mabari that comes to investigate why her person is making funny noises; canine cuddles and rousing game of 'rope-tug' are the perfect cure for feeling stupid after all.

* * *

Malcolm wears a suit to his meeting, and Krem does likewise; he heads for an upscale teahouse, asks for the back room, as it's off hours enough that there's no hardship to giving it to him. He arrives early, sitting at the table and ordering a pot and delicacies for the table. He brings a folder with him, bright red, slipped into his briefcase and placed beside his chair.

And then he waits.

The Major makes him wait nearly twenty minutes in an almost refreshingly petty power play. When he does arrive, clad in a suit cut to give the impression of a military uniform, he strides into the booth and sits with a scowl. "Well? Get on with it," he snaps impatiently

"You're not going to touch my daughter. And you're not taking my son, either." He says it flat-out, looking the Major in the eye.

Aristide sighs softly. "Why do you insist on wasting my time?"

Malcolm says nothing, reaching into his briefcase and sliding the folder across to Aristide. "Drink your tea and have a look."

"Very well, I can—" The Major goes very still. After a few seconds, he closes the folder again and stares at Malcolm. "You realize I'm going to have you killed of course."

"A shame. I'd hate to have the video broadcast far and wide." Mal sips his tea, staring the Major down.

"Oh not _now_ , of course, I know how the game is played. But eventually," the Major says, waving his hand dismissively. "This," he gestures at the folder, "is simply something I cannot allow to be known."

"Well, it is known. And I want you to stay away from the children." A pause. "And I want a divorce. We'll settle our accounts differently than the prenup stated, of course, given that cheating was involved."

"No," is the calm but unyielding reply. "These are... uncomfortable, yes. If you wish to divorce, then so be it. But you won't release them to the public, so they're not nearly as potent a weapon as you are attempting to portray them as."

"Make no mistake: I very much will release them. As well as paternity tests for all four children. You won't hurt any of the four, not emotionally and not physically. No Circle. No moving in with you. And no assassinations. If I get so much as a whiff, I'm releasing them on my way into hiding with the children."

"You would make your children the subject of intense shame and ridicule for decades to come?" The Major scoffs. "You're far too soft for such a move."

"I am not," he says, continuing to hold the Major's gaze. "My son was tortured, nearly Tranquiled, and tried to kill himself. I will do _anything_ to prevent that happening again."

Aristride hesitates finally, studying Malcolm. "You would ruin their lives for your pride?"

"No. But I won't let them die because of yours. And make no mistake: if you try to strong-arm Garrett, he will kill himself. You're threatening the lives of my children directly, personally. It would be a tragedy if this were to come out, but I have faith they'd recover. They will never recover from what you plan for them."

"What?" The Major demands, fixating on something in the middle. "Suicide? What in the Maker's name are you going on about?"

"Haven't you seen how desperately unhappy he is?" he asks. "Haven't you noticed a thing of the past six months?"

"Of course I have," he snaps at Mal, bristling. "Not that a damn one of you aside from Lea will take the time to visit or even call without being paid to do it. Do you mean to say Garrett has— has made— attempts?"

"Yes." That's all he says.

The Major's jaw works. "I see. You can have the children, have your divorce. The pre-nup stands. I'll not have you take my daughter's inheritance. We'll triple your severance pay and part ways." He sets his tea down, then wipes his hands before pushing his chair back.

"I'm not handing over the process for you. You can keep making the current products, I'll even let you keep the prototypes, but I'm not explaining how to go on without me. I've been cheated on since the day I was married, I'm not letting you steal my intellectual gifts without paying the fidelity I deserved."

"We'll see what the lawyers hash out in the details," Major Aristide evades. "This isn't the time to be greedy, boy."

"We'll see," he agrees. "The divorce is less pressing than the children."

"All of them ruined anyway, keep them," is the cold reply. "Time and past time that my son did his duty it seems." With no pretense at a polite goodbye, he strides away from the table.

Mal lets out a long, slow breath. _Well, at least Gamlen's getting his comeuppance,_ he decides. _Fuck me sideways. I'm just going to sit another minute._

At the end of that minute, he picks up his phone, dialing Aveline's secure line. "We're clear," he says, simply. "He threatened my life, but it seems he's angling for delayed gratification."

"Good. Well. Bad. He threatened your life?" Wait, is that coming from— Aveline steps into the back room and takes a seat, hanging up as she does so.

"It wasn't a threat so much as a promise," he says weakly, reaching into the briefcase once more. He shuts off the tape recorder, ejects the tape, and offers it to her.

Aveline raises an eyebrow. "Inadmissible as evidence in court but it helps," she allows, taking it. "Take a few deep breaths for me?"

"Sorry. Just, you know, when they murder me, there's your motive." He takes a deep breath, then another. "I won, at least. My children are safe. Doubly so; he's not so much afraid of the blackmail as, he called them all ruined and said he'll have to start again with Gamlen's children. So there's that."

"Maker's breath, he's a real shitstained fuckwad isn't he," Aveline growls, then blushes darkly. "That is— I mean—"

But Mal chuckles. "No, you have the right of it."

"Hardly appropriate things to say regardless of their accuracy," she mumbles, still looking horribly embarrassed.

"I'm none too fond of the man, rest assured," Mal says gently. "Well. I suppose I'm getting divorced, if we can come to some agreement. I guess I'll have Art draw up the paperwork."

"It's not about—" She cuts off, shaking her head. _Need to watch my tongue better, this isn't the bullpen._ "I... Well, given how clearly unhappy you've been, I can't say I'm sorry you're getting a divorce. 'Sorry it'll hurt' I suppose is true though."

"The worst has been done," he admits. "I had to watch my wife do things she'd never do with me to another man, in order to pull this off."

Aveline coughs loudly and this time her blush covers not just her cheeks but all down her neck and past the edge of her shirt.

"Don't tell me you're prudish?" he asks, fighting a smile.

"I'm a cop, I'm not— I just wasn't expecting—" She sputters, gesturing weakly with her hand.

"What, you didn't peek?" he jokes.

Aveline blinks, then blanches. "No! You said not to," she replies, sounding offended. And looking at her hip with disgust, presumably having the USB in her pocket.

"I didn't, actually. I rather assumed you would. Varric would have," he admits. "But he'd have lied about it if pushed. You don't seem to like lying."

"It's... discomforting," she admits, the flush slowly fading away. "If people lie, then justice has to work twice as hard to ensure that it's fair and even."

"Hang onto it anyhow, and that tape. Just in case."

"Would you like a protective detail?" she offers carefully. "Someone vetted by me," she adds quickly, "not loyal to the Viscount."

"No. It'd get in the way." He pauses, before adding, "But I wouldn't mind seeing you more often."

"Mal... Colm. Malcolm. Mister Amell," she continues to backpedal awkwardly. "I— there are reasons why— that is to say— Maker, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Maybe you should begin again," he chuckles. "I'll get you started: yes, I'd love to."

_Dammit, stop being charming._ "I don't think the timing is right for... For starting a sentence that way," she says carefully. "I can listen if you need to talk. I can help if I'm able. We can even... have coffee from time to time. Like this. But..."

"But you don't want to get any more involved until the divorce is final. I understand. It's a shame, but I understand." He smiles, running his hand through his hair. "Fuck, there's a good chance I'm getting a divorce. I never expected to be able to."

"Among other reasons, but yes," Aveline says quietly, the sneered insult from the Viscount echoing in her ears. _I hate that I'm giving his words such weight but... I just can't shake them._ "Than you for understanding. Not all men would."

"I'm not like other men," he teases. "For one, I'm bisexual. I guess not a lot of people knew that until recently."

"Bi—" Aveline coughs softly. "Sorry, I just wasn't... expecting that." _Is that why he's interested in me?_ She fidgets a little under the table, though she hides it well.

"Will that be a problem?" he asks, his tone a little cool.

"What? No, sorry, it's just—" Aveline winces. _Dammit, how do I explain this? Well, is your pride or his opinion of you worth more?_ Put like that, she finds her nerve. "Given my— both my profession and my... build— hell, my personality too— I am often... My 'nickname' through training was Lady Man-Hands," she says, the helpless anger and hurt still scaring the words. "The... possible implication to how you view me caught me off guard. I know it's my damage, not anything about you."

"You seem feminine enough to me," he admits. "Though of course if you say you're not, I'll believe you. I support trans people, including non-binaries."

"I'm a w—" She cuts off her sharp retort, taking a deep breath. "I'm female. From birth to now and beyond. I just have trouble with people saying otherwise."

"A cis woman," he clarifies. "I didn't think you were assigned male at birth; I thought, you never can tell if someone is a trans man until they tell you. For all I know, you're fluid or something."

Aveline stares at him for a moment. _Like... damp?_ "My opinion of you has risen enough that I will give you the benefit of the doubt and ask you to explain instead of assuming that's a reference to... something inappropriate."

"Gender-fluid. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometime neither or both."

"Oh." She frowns, then shakes her head after giving the idea at least a moment's thought. "No. I sometimes worry I'm too... masculine. I just want to do my duty and be myself. A guard, a proponent of justice, who is also a woman."

"That's a good desire," he says softly. "I can get behind that."

_Rather you were behind me instead— dammit body, no. Bad._ "Thank you," she says out loud, sipping at her tea awkwardly. "So..."

"So indeed," he says, with a chuckle. _Bull now, but Aveline's in the 'maybe later' column for sure. What a fascinating woman._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he ordered the death of Garrett's grandfather, Varric was coaxed into an intervention setting, where everyone who loves him can voice their concern. At the intervention, he agreed to talk it out and let go of his tight control over his emotions, but only in private, with Garrett to comfort him and Leliana to comfort Garrett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD flashbacks, sex, incest

Garrett lays on his side, watching Varric sleep. _He looks more peaceful, now. Was he even sleeping, before? Letting his implants have free reign.. he's slept a long time. Maker, what time is it even?_

He doesn't want to get up to find out. It's not like there's windows in the sub-basement, where their playroom is; they've slept, woken, and slept again, after Leliana made them eat real food. It hurts like hell to see Varric so worked up, so frightened, and yet, it's healing as well. _He does trust me,_ Garrett keeps thinking at odd moments. _He loves me. He does. His trust issues weren't anything to do with me, after all. It was all him, all inside his tortured mind._

He reaches out, brushing a bit of hair off Varric's cheek. _My love._

The cheek shifts, lips curving. "Feel that," Varric mumbles sleepily, in that twilight stage between sleep and wakefulness where there's just contentment and peace. Across the room, Leliana's eyelids flicker but she doesn't wake, her mind recognizing the sound of Varric's voice without any pain or fear in it.

"Feel this," Garrett whispers, and he bends to plant a slow, languid kiss on Varric's lips.

Blood heats, pulse quickens and Varric's hand slips around to grip the back of Garrett's head. The kiss stays light for only a few seconds before Varric is pouring himself into it. Apologies, gratitude, love, need, begging; it's all churned together in his kiss. Garrett takes all of it, everything he can give, and returns it, hungrily, happily. _Yes. My love._

They finally have to part to breath, the ragged panting filling the room. Varric pulls Garrett close, hiding his face in the crook of the human's neck. "Safe," he manages after a moment, body trembling slightly.

"Safe," Garrett replies. "Here, with me."

Varric nods a little, still trembling. "Sorry," he whispers after a few minutes of silence.

"Don't be. I'm the one who's sorry, for letting them take you."

"Shut you out."

Garrett rests his forehead against Varric's, smiling faintly. "Well, maybe we're all a little _shagua_ sometimes."

Varric snorts, clearly amused. "Brat," he mumbles. "That's apex resource hoarder to you and don't forget it."

"Not hoarding much of anything right now," he notes. "Seems like I'm the one hoarding you."

"Have you just where I want you," Varric mutters, his other hand gripping Garrett by his wizard's staff.

Garrett swallows, hard, his cock becoming erect instantly in Varric's hand— faster even than before, when they sparred. "Are you sure?" he asks, in a throaty whisper. "We haven't—" _We haven't fucked, or played, since before you were taken. Back before your nephew came into town. Not since Marian._

"Too long. I was afraid to hurt you. But you're stronger than I let myself see," Varric whispers. "I want to play. I want to watch you come apart. I want to see you at peace."

"Maker, yes," he whispers. "I want to see you in control. I want you to own me. I want you to break me, and put me back together again, better and stronger."

Trying to hide her reluctance, Leliana slowly uncurls herself from the sofa chair. "I shall just..."

"You can— if you want, stay. I..." Varric clears his throat. "I'm not sure I'm up for— for disrobing. If you don't mind me, ah directing, then..." The redhead goes still, eyes darting to Garrett.

"Yes," Garrett whispers. "Lels, grab my collar? It's in the storage closet next door. The thick blue one."

Leliana takes a slow breath. _Am I ready for this? Fucking in front of Varric? Obeying— Maker yes, I want Garrett to fuck me blind. And I've enjoyed having an audience before_. She smiles a little, amused at herself, as she fetches the collar. Returning, she crosses her arms as she looks down at Garrett.

"Safeword is lyrium," Varric says as Garrett sits up. "Are you co-bottoming or we doing a chain or...?"

"If Garrett doesn't mind, I'm a switch but prefer topping so a chain," Leliana explains, fiddling with the latch.

Garrett nods, holding out his hand for the collar. "Do you want me to call you anything special? Anything I should or shouldn't say, do?"

"Rough sex is fine, a few slaps, some biting or scratching, but no tools, avoid blood. Avoid the front of my neck. Filthy and trash talk is fine, but no slurs or objectification. If you want more than a finger in my ass, expect to take twenty minutes getting it ready." She hesitates, glancing at Varric. _It's been years since I fantasized about Varric. Well. Since I did so deliberately anyway. Andraste's softest song, even as an awe-struck teen, I wouldn't have conjured up a fantasy this outlandish; a threesome with my boss and his sub in their hidden sex bunker._

"I plan to stay mostly hands-off today," Varric says quietly, catching her concern. _Jumping in to the deep end here_. "Probably going to take my wild fool to hand, but otherwise, I'll just be giving the orders. And chastising those that disobey."

Leliana nods slowly. "If you want to tap or lightly smack me with something padded for that..."

Garrett nods. "I can take a lot of pain. Whatever you're thinking, double it. And I want it. I want the pain." He reaches up, buckling the collar around his neck. "This will keep you safe. Don't remind me of... anything I went through, or tie my hands, or I might hurt you on accident." A pause, then he adds, "Try to hurt you," backpedaling a bit with a sheepish grin as he recalls her hand-to-hand skills.

"No church stuff at all. A slutty Sister outfit caused a flashback before," Varric adds.

Leliana nods, then pauses. "Of course," she mutters. "Of all the days to—" She rubs her forehead. "Do you want to disrobe me or should I strip? If the former, I need to step out to take off my panties."

"...you have Chanty underwear?"

Leliana blushes a little. "They have a Sunburst on the crotch," she mumbles. "They're very comfy."

Garrett's hand twitches, just a little. "Go ahead and get them off. Are we otherwise ready to begin?"

Leliana offers an apologetic smile and turns around. She glances over her shoulder, smile now a saucy smirk, and winks. She slowly unbuttons her shirt, humming softly and never breaking eye contact with Garrett. Already barefoot, she turns in place as she slips the shirt off and tosses it on the ground. Somehow during that she'd unhooked her bra, which she loosens by running a finger under it and then casts it aside. Her hands caress her abdomen, then dip into her pants. Just before she unbuttons her jeans, she turns again before bending over, revealing a quick flash of the matte black box that must be her booster. The jeans are peeled off her, inch by inch. Once they're pooled on the ground at her feet, she presses her hands flat against the ground and bounces gently, as if stretching. She arches her back to the right, then the left, hands and feet still on the ground. Humming with satisfaction, she straightens up, back still to both men and widens her stance. Leaning back, she lifts her right foot behind herself until her heel touches her ear, all while keeping balanced on her left foot. She holds it for a few seconds, then relaxes before repeating the action with the opposite foot. By the time she finishes twisting and showing off, she has only one foot in her discarded clothing, which she uses to send them off with a flick of her foot. Now nude and limbered up, she saunters back to stand in front of Garrett, hands on hips and smirk firmly in place.

"Permission to rip our mustang's clothes off sir?"

"Pain first, please, sir," whimpers Garrett. "The jeans will help."

"Stretch out over the horse," Varric orders, rising to his feet and heading to the toys. He catches Leliana's eye, a silent exchange occurring that ends with him nodding. "I'll instruct—"

"Kitten."

Varric pauses only a second at the interruption, "— Kitten in how you like to play."

Garrett snickers as he pads to the sawhorse. "Kitten, huh? I hope you hit more like a lion than a kitten or we'll be here all night."

"Someone has clearly never played with a kitten," Leliana whispers into his ear, suddenly behind him. Dancing back from his jerk, she laughs. "Cute, adorable, soft to the touch; and tiny claws that sting worse than a knife." She slips into an adorable pout that clashes with her clearly aroused body.

"Bit of a tease, I see," Varric notes as he returns with a foam covered rod and a soft riding crop. "Do you want straps on your legs?" As he asks, he fastens the arm straps into empty loops to give Garrett something to grip without binding his hands.

"No, sir," he replies meekly, dropping his gaze as he moves to grip the loops. And that's a first for Leliana: seeing him submissive, meek, without being scared out of his mind. Seeing that little smile on his lips, but his eyes downcast, submitting with intention instead of having submission forced from him by terror.

A tiny knot slips free in Leliana, that bit of worry that Garrett isn't really submissive but is just following Varric's lead finally fading away. Moving next to Garrett, she trails her nails along his back. "Does he like just impact or are there other... sensations... he enjoys?"

"A bit of sharp with thin impact. We've played a bit with hot and cold," Varric replies, "but that's still an in-progress exploration."

Garrett gets into position, waiting patiently while they work out the details; when the first blow hits, a test blow, to show Leliana how hard to hit, he swallows his whimper, determined not to make a sound. Not until he lets go. Not until his doms _earn_ it.

Face somber and stern but eyes content, Varric slowly strokes Garrett's back to apply some massage oil. At Leliana's curious look, he murmurs, "helps prevent the skin from breaking. Antiseptic and minted too. Safety and sting."

"Plans within plans, purpose alongside purpose, even with this, hmm?" She chuckles softly, testing the paddle on her arm to determine the force she wants. "May I?"

Varric nods with a wink, inclining his head towards Garrett's legs. Leliana waits a beat, then another, before landing a trio of light blows on each calf. Too light for the mage, even to start.

"You can start when you like," the cheeky mage comments.

Varric shakes his head, reaching for the paddle. "If I may?" Leliana narrows her eyes, then nods curtly as she raises her arm. Then hisses softly when Varric strikes her thrice in rapid succession. "That's the force for warming him up."

"That is... higher than I expected, even seeing you strike the once. More or less the upper bound of what I like," she admits. "Very well. Ready to get started properly then?" She doesn't wait, striking him a few times across his ass at roughly the same force Varric had demonstrated.

He hisses a bit, his grin broadening. "There you go."

"Mouthy little thing, aren't you?" She trails her fingers up his back, digging them in gently, then grabbing his hair to yank his head back. "Is that a proper tone to be taking, hmmm?"

"What's the matter? Scared?" teases Garrett.

Moving silently, Varric switches him across his calves. "Play nice with our guest or she won't be allowed to come over again, shagua."

"Oh I think I can... _coax_ some better behavior out of him," Leliana promises, pressing his face back against the saddle horse. She trails a few kisses down his shoulder, then bites down firmly. _Mine._

He swallows back his yelp of surprise, not wanting to give the wrong impression. "Oh my," he teases. "Someone's hungry today."

"For you?" she whispers in his ear, tongue tracing the curve of it. "Always."

He shivers, eyes closing halfway. "What can I say? I'm delicious."

"Cocky aren't we?" she purrs, making it very clear her word choice was deliberate. She gets to work properly then, the blows coming faster and without pause. Calves, thighs, ass, shoulders, arms. More gently and less frequently: feet, forearms, lower back. Varric whispers instructions frequently, but in clipped, heavily accented Mandarin that only provides vague hints of what's about to happen to Garrett.

As she warms up, just as Varric tells her to put some real _oomph_ into it, Garret loosens his grip on his magic. A tiny bit, at first, as if testing the waters; then a little more, and a little more. Finally, he releases, letting out a throaty cry as she hits him hard on his buttocks. When nothing goes horribly awry, he lets himself go, the arrogance giving way to something more primal, less measured.

"Did he just—"

"Come? Yeah, he does that," Varric says in English, tone pleased. Kneeling next to Garrett, he gently strokes the mage's hair. "Mustang here enjoys the breaking just as much as being ridden."

"y'r mustang," he mutters, pleased with himself.

Turning Garrett's head gently, he kisses Garrett. Takes his time with it but doesn't deepen it. "Yes."

_Okay, that's pretty fucking hot_. "I hope he still has some in the tank. I will be... most displeased if that was the end of our games."

"jus'a minute," he slurs, eyes closing contentedly. "then y'can taste me if ya want."

"I was more thinking the other way around," Leliana replies, trying not to laugh or smile at how he sounds. _Like I imagine a well-fed cat in a sunbeam would be. And how strange is it that this quickens my passion just as much as what we were just doing?_

"Yes, ma'am," he purrs, and there's no cockiness, no artifice in it; he's honestly pleased to be asked such at task.

With Varric's help, Garrett is lifted and flipped before being put on the bed. "Do you want any cushions or ties?" Leliana murmurs as they move him. Before Garrett can decided, his dom rather pointedly clears his throat.

"No ties," he slurs, struggling to focus.

"I think you're getting cued to take cushions however," Leliana informs him, taking said cushions from Varric to tuck under his head. "Which is fair; I want you focused on your duty, not neck pain."

"Yess'm," he slurs again. "Happy to ob-obli— obey."

"That's Lady Kitty to you," she teases him as she sits on the side of the bed. She casts a gaze down the length of his body. "Hmmm. Perhaps a little clean-up first however," she murmurs as she twists down to lick along his length. Soft, tiny licks with just the tip of her tongue, accompanied by 'bites' using just her lips.

"Hmmm," he purrs. "Good Kitty."

Turning her head, she bites down on his thigh rather hard. "Lady Kitty."

"Ah! Yes, Lady Kitty," he corrects himself.

Leliana licks the bitemark to soothe it before returning to grooming him attentively. _She's rather (attractive, now that I let myself notice) getting into that. Bit of a furry (would not have guessed it of her) it seems._ Humming thoughtfully, Varric takes a seat next to Garrett's feet. "How're you feeling, shagua? Anywhere ache as it shouldn't?" His tone is gentle but there's a warning in it about not being entirely truthful.

"No sir. All warm and tingly," he sighs, happily. One foot works its way into Varric's lap— a sneaky request for a footrub.

"Brat," Varric says fondly, taking the foot into his hands.

Finishing her own task, Leliana begins to nuzzle and lick her way up Garrett's chest to pull him into a kiss, which he returns, greedily. Purring softly, a neat trick given her tongue is in his mouth, Leliana caresses his chest as Varric lavishes care on his feet. After a few minutes of this, her hand drifts down to test Garrett's readiness. "Mmmmh. Is that for your Lady Kitty?" she whispers, nibbling on his lower lip, as Varric pushes a condom into her hand.

"It is," he whispers. "It is for Lady Kitty."

_Damn that's more appealing that I expected it to be,_ Leliana thinks with a shiver. "Good mustang." She kisses him once more, hard and hungry, before fluidly swinging herself atop him. Reaching down, she slides first the condom, then her body onto him, head coming back with a throaty moan.

He lets out a cry, wild and raw and pleased, and bucks upwards, rocking his hips from side to side just a bit. _I'll show her a mustang_ , he thinks, and a smirk slides across his lips.

Already tightly wound by the play and some self-stimulation during, Leliana doesn't take long to crest. She doesn't stop moving however, wanting more, wanting a deeper, harder climax. She leans forward, nails digging into his shoulders as she tries to keep her balance despite their wild movements and her vexingly growing fatigue. "Maker, I need this, more, more, more, harder dammit!"

With a show of force that proves how little he was fighting her before, Garrett rolls over, pinning her beneath him so he can pound into her, heavy, harder.

Leliana mews softly, wrapping her legs around his waist and burying her teeth in his shoulder. _Oh good, he's a bit of a switch too_ , she thinks in a haze, the happy thought nearly lost in the heat. "Yessss," she hisses around his flesh, eyes closing as she nears her second peak. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Varric leans over to smack and grope Garrett's ass.

Garrett tries to hold back, to keep plowing through Leliana's rapture, but as Varric slides a finger into his butt, he loses his control and comes, hard and raw. He throws his head back and groans as he does, panting for breath as he collapses onto her a moment later.

A minute or so later, Leliana mumbles something about 'having ten hours to move or no lashes' and then starts snoring delicately. "Is she really...?" Varric asks with amusement, wiping his hand with a rag.

"Exhausted, I'll bet," he sighs, rolling off her to lay beside her, staring up at the ceiling.

Varric snorts his agreement as he watches Leliana frown, then roll on her side to curl against Garrett. "How about you?"

"Yeah," he agrees, in a breathy sigh.

"And otherwise?" Varric prods firmly, a hint of his dom voice slipping in.

Garrett is silent for a breath, then two. Finally, he admits, "haven't been eating much again. Haven't been sleeping well."

"I'm sorry," Varric says in a soft whisper, head bowed.

"No," he says quickly. "It's my fault. I couldn't see that you were in trouble. I thought... I thought you were upset with me."

Varric winces. "No, I shouldn't have..." He laughs softly. "It's hard to remember sometimes, that we've been dating for such a short time. That we're still getting to know about each other."

"Yeah," agrees Garrett. "I've known you my whole life, but I've only really _known_ you less than a year."

"No-one knows me," Varric says, looking a bit pained. "Not even me it feels like sometimes."

"I know you," Garrett replies quietly. "I knew something was wrong. But I thought... I thought it was that you were done with me. That I couldn't protect you so you were leaving me."

Varric's head snaps up, the Shirén's eyes boring into Garrett's. "No. _Never_. If I ever want or need to end things, I will fucking say it to your face. Straight and direct. No games, no fucking around, no hiding things. Understood?"

Garrett glances away. "It's okay if you..."

" _Garret_. Yes or no, do you understand? I will explain with exacting fucking detail if you need me to. Please."

"No," he says quietly. "People are complicated and... and sometimes they just... leave. Sometimes they do things that don't..." Tears drip down his face, but he does his best to ignore them.

"They shouldn't," Varric says tiredly. "That sort of thing... isn't not right. It's not healthy." He studies Garrett for a long moment. "You're thinking of Anders and Fenris, aren't you? Isabela too, in a way."

"Anders would get... moody. Distant. I had to give him space and trust he'd come back. I thought..."

"Add that together with what you learned afterwards. With him using you to get access to Mal and me. And then Fen and me," Varric coaxes him.

"I... what does that have to do with...?"

"Conditioning. He got you used to being hurt and uncomfortable. Got you accustomed to have to do more than is fair, reasonable or kind to keep him. It's a very common trick for abusers. Doesn't often lead to grand larceny, kidnappings, and terrorism but..."

"Abusers?" he asks, his voice too soft. "He... abused me? Not just abused my trust but..."

Varric frowns, just for a second, not wanting to come off disapproving or upset with Garrett. "Never really considered it that way? Didn't want to maybe?"

"It didn't— I'm not some battered spouse, I'm not... It just... I thought... I thought he loved me, beneath all the lies. I thought it was just that he loved his job more."

"That much can explain neglect. Even indifference. But not the constant bullshit, the running hot and cold, the constant tests. People can't do that to someone they love. They might call it that, but it isn't."

Garrett's quiet for a moment before he asks, his tone fragile, "You never... tested me?"

"N—" Varric pauses, making a face. "Not romantically. At work, yes of course. And... The warehouse. But not about _us_."

"I— I did. I pushed my limits. I wanted to know if you'd... how far you'd let me push you. Was that... wrong?"

"It's not _great_ but... What would you do if I failed a test?"

"I... I'm not sure. I didn't really think of it that way. I guess... I guess if you really failed, if you didn't love me at all and were just faking it to get me to do what you wanted, I'd leave." A pause. "Or maybe not. Given.. Anders. I guess I'd just have... I don't know."

To his horror, the black pit opens beneath him; he feels his mood plummet even thinking about it, and he wipes away a tear, forcing his thoughts into a happier path as Lelldorin had coached him. _He isn't leaving. He does love me. It's fine. I'm safe._

"I guess I'd have killed myself," he manages, his voice hoarse. "You mean too much to me to... to let that stand."

Varric goes very still as Garrett says this. "You know that's not acceptable right? That you can't depend on anyone that much. Can't put everything on one person like that. Please?"

"But... It's you," he says quietly. "If you died, I would be okay eventually. If you left me. If we grew apart. But if you never loved me at all? Or if I failed you, if your death was my fault?"

"Shagua... you're _you_. You have a martyr complex the size of the island that's only matched by the size of your white knight steed. I could sneak off in the dead of night because of something you've never touched for someone you've never met and you'd still blame yourself if I died in a car crash."

"I wouldn't," he protests, but it's weak. "What happened before is a whole different level." Varric looks at him, single eyebrow arched. "It was! I thought— I thought I— but it's not true and so, it's fine, everything is fine."

"Clearly not if you thought that," Varric snaps, then takes a slow breath. "Why was it... like _that_."

"Like...?"

That gets a puzzled frown. "What— no. Not doing this. Explain what happened, from your perspective."

"When— ah. I..." Garrett takes a deep breath. "I had the stupid idea that you were gone. That all that were left were the implants. That I would have to... To make the call to put you down."

Varric stares at Garrett again but this time it's not stern. Instead his mouth hangs open with stunned disbelief. "What."

Garrett blushes. "I— I know now that it doesn't work that way. But you kept saying... I thought... I thought you had died. That that was why you were so distant: it wasn't you."

"My implants are good, excellent even, but they're still just programs. No user input, no processing, no output. It can do a lot with only a little but..." He shakes his head. _Not the time (need to get him some primers later) for this. Focus._ "It wouldn't have been your fault. If I, I don't know, had a stroke and slipped in a coma, it wouldn't be on just you. I have a living will and Mal is also a medical proxy and so forth."

"A living will is different. That's you deciding. I— I told Lels to— I couldn't live with that."

"No, I have orders in place for that situation in my living will," Varric says without shame. "That would fall into Subsection G-4, under 'zombification.' It accounts for magic, science, or combinations thereof. If anything like this ever happens again, please, please, please don't make the decision by yourself."

Garrett closes his eyes, momentary grief welling up inside him. "Alright," he says, quietly. "Alright. I should have known, of course you prepared for— alright."

"Why did this hit you so— stupid question," Varric cuts himself off. _Drugs, Isolation. Betrayal. Templar. More betrayal. Twin. Parents, Depression. Grandfat—_ "Holy shite I ordered your grandfather assassinated."

His eyes snap open. "Yes! You did! That's why I was so scared! Please tell me you called off whatever your implants did?"

Varric holds up a hand. /Unit— Cole, report./

/Yes sir?/

/Location and current activity./

/The kitchen, consuming fruit pulp. Catsup? Catsup./

Varric pauses. /Repeat? Clarify?/

/I am standing by the northeast window, and have just placed a spoonful of Fancy Catsup in my mouth. The taste is good. Sweet./

/...just ketchup? By itself?/

/No. Catsup. By itself./

/The Heinz company branded their product as ketchup (derived from the Malay word for 'fish sauce') in the late 1800's (70-80, I think), so technically what you're eating is ketchup as the brand I buy is a subsidy of that company. Other brands that imitated their commercial success came up with a whole slew of similar names. Catsoup and Kutpuck are the most amusing in my opinion./ Another pause. /Also, did you complete that assassination mission I assigned you yet?/

/Ah. No. The mission was delayed due to hunger./ For two days?

/Good call. Cancel the mission for now./ He gives Garrett a thumbs-up.

There's an odd feedback up the line, something almost like a warmth at the edges of his vision. /Cancellation confirmed. It is good that you are feeling better./

Garrett sighs in relief. "Thank the Maker."

"Thank the agent, they dithered on purpose," Varric murmurs. "He's an odd one, but he clued that the order was off and delayed." Internally, he starts analyzing the feedback out of absent curiosity. /Good call/ he repeats.

"I— This is a weird question, but is your agent... blonde?"

Varric smiles faintly. "Code name Blonde Boy, yes."

"I— I don't really remember, but... I think I remember light blonde hair and earnest blue eyes. Pleading eyes."

"You've met, yes," Varric confirms. "He has a rather... unusual ability to be unnoticed and forgotten."

"Not a very good one, if I remember him."

"You've met him at least a dozen times and can only recall the once, vaguely," Varric points out. _Still, even that much..._ /Cole, why does Garrett recall talking to you?/

/What? He shouldn't./ A pause. /I did want him to remember one thing I said. I guess that worked?/

"I what?" asks Garrett, at the same time.

/Guess so. Try putting the ketchup on something. Cheese or toast maybe. I'll get you fries at some point./ Focusing on Garrett, he nods. "Like I said, he has a talent. What do you recall about him?"

"I— nothing, really. I wasn't even sure he was a him. Just those earnest eyes, framed by hair so blonde it looks like straw." A pause. "Maybe a hat. I get the vague impression of a hat."

_That daft hat._ "What about what he did? Said?"

"I have no idea. I'm sorry."

"Hmm. How about... When you think of his hair and hat, what do you feel? Any emotions or impulses?"

"...sad. Hopeful. I want to hug you."

Varric smiles faintly, a gentle light in his eyes. "I suspect he stepped in to protect you. To stop you."

"I.. no, I stopped because... I don't remember. I just... I realized I was wrong about what had happened, that your implants don't work that way, that you had to still be in there. Then Leliana was here."

"Just realized," Varric repeats. "Out of nowhere?"

"I mean... I don't.. it's all kind of a blur," he admits.

"He's good. It's not really important, at the moment, just something to keep in mind. Cole is... odd. Damaged in some ways." He pauses as something occurs to him. "He's a bit like Fenris really. Bit sweet and a bit simple instead of sharp and aggressive. Not dumb, just simple. Sheltered and odd."

Garrett nods slowly. "Alright. That makes sense."

"How are you feeling now?" Varric asks abruptly, wanting to get a reactive answer, not a planned one.

"Uh, a little off balance, a little fragile," he says, honestly.

"Is there something I can assure you of or explain to help?" Varric asks gently.

'No' is on his lips, but a moment later, instead, he says in a small voice, "you really love me?"

"I really do," Varric says softly, moving to the edge of the bed. He kneels, reaching across to caress the side of Garrett's face. "I love you, Garrett. Promise."

"And we're okay?" he asks, in the same small tone.

"I have a bit of ground to make up to you, but yes," Varric replies softly, still holding his hand against Garrett's face.

"You?" he asks, with a small, bitter laugh. "I'm the idiot who tried to..."

"How often have I badgered, scolded and outright demanded you to ask for help?"

He winces. "I couldn't ask, I thought you were..."

But Varric is shaking his head. "I have to make up ground because I'm a giant fucking hypocrite. After all that, I didn't ask you for help. Or Mal. Fuck, I didn't even schedule a therapist visit. I didn't so much as think of asking for help. Sure, some of that was me being so caught up in my head I didn't entirely accept I was free but not all of it."

"After what they did to you, I don't blame you. They only had me a few hours, but you had— subjectively... Maker knows how long." But he can't suppress the sudden shiver fast enough.

Varric's breathing hitches and his eyes start to unfocus before his hand suddenly grips Garrett's chin painfully tightly. Just for a second, just long enough to prick his skin on the human's stubble. "Sorry," he grates out harshly. _Safe. Here. I can see. Hear. Feel heat, pain. Safe._

"Sorry," Garrett is already saying, at the same time. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't— shit. I'm so sorry. I won't mention it again."

"It's okay." His voice is still rough, low. "It's okay. We're okay. We're okay. You're here. I'm— It's okay." He takes a deep breath. "I need— I need to talk about it. Not yet. Soon. But not yet."

"Okay," Garrett replies, his voice hoarse. "I'll be here when you're ready."

"I know," Varric says softly. "I know. It might be a while before I can get to all of it. But we will. Promise."

Garrett takes a deep breath, then another. Still, his heart twists, cries out; he keeps it silent, save for the silent tears. _Forget Fen_ , he orders himself. _You have to take care of Varric now. You have to be here for him._ Only a few minutes ago he felt free, felt relaxed, felt more himself than he has in months; and yet now, already, the world closes in on him, forcing him into unnatural shapes, twisting him until he's willing to do the worst things for the best reasons.

He sits up, rubbing at his eyes, willing the tears to stop. "Maybe we should rest for a while. Get our minds off the whole thing." _For now._

* * *

When they've rested enough to be hungry, the pair leave Leliana to sleep and wander upstairs. To their surprise, Mal is hanging out in the living room, watching tennis with low volume; he mutes it entirely when they enter, jumping to his feet.

"Oh good, you're up," he says, too brightly. "I'll make tacos, you must be starved."

Starved they are, but the pair each move to take a shower while Mal cooks. Soon enough, he's putting a plate of reheated taco meat in front of each of them, leaning against the wall while they chow down.

"How are you feeling? You were down there a while; it's Sunday afternoon now."

That gets a wince from the Shirén. "Seriously? Damn," he mumbles. The shower had helped make him feel a bit more settled, even if being naked for it had caused a mild panic attack. Thankfully mini-B is waterproof. "Better. Closer to mortal," Varric offers weakly. "Something up? Not that I mind having food prepared for me."

"Oh, it's just my turn," says Mal, casually. "We've worked out shifts. Bull was here until just an hour ago."

"You didn't have to," grumbles Garrett. "We were fine."

"Happy to help," Mal chirps.

"Didn't have to but we both appreciate it," Varric says firmly, giving Garrett a look.

Garrett prods at his taco, silent, deep in thought.

"So the twins are heading back to school in the morning," adds Mal, trying to get onto a cheerier topic.

Varric starts to prod Garrett about his sulk but Mal's diversion is rather effective. _Right, the twins. Fuck_. "Right... How are they doing anyway?" He asks, stalling a little as he figures out how to approach this.

"I'm not certain— they've always been hard to read, with Carver being so quiet and Beth being so performative— but they seem to be doing better. Carver was over the moon about his birthday gift." He frowns a little at his son's wince, but doesn't pry.

"Birthday gift?" Varric asks curiously, not really recalling any of the gifts. _I don't even recall what I got them..._ Tentatively, almost warily, he tasks his implants to sifting through his recent purchases to puzzle that out.

"His grandfather gave him a shaving kit. Very thoughtful, given their history of conflict."

Varric coughs sharply. "Uhh. About that..." He glances at Garrett. _Unsubtle AF but..._ Using his text program, he sends a quick message to Garrett. 'You want to tell him? About asshat's ultimatum? Or should I?'

Garrett pulls his phone out, hesitates as he sees the text. Finally, he says gruffly, "It's because of me. I did what he wanted so he treated Carver better. It was a threat."

"Full disclosure on my part, I may have ordered him killed a little. While I was..." He gestures weakly. "Off balance."

"A little—!" begins Mal.

"He called it off," says Garrett quickly.

"Well, I suppose that's alright then! Why did you order— you _know_ better!"

"Not at the time," Varric explains tersely. "All I cared about was removing the threat to Pr- to Garrett."

"I had things under control! Doubly so now: I got the information you and I have been hunting for. Garrett's deal is off. He doesn't have to live with my father-in-law or even take the position."

"I— what?" asks Garrett, voice weak.

"Well, neither of us knew that," Varric snaps. "And again, I wasn't exactly— well."

"You knew I had things in hand! A few days, a week at most, wouldn't have hurt him any."

"Yes, thank you, Mal, I've already said I wasn't thinking properly," Varric grits out.

"Leave off," snaps Garrett. "He was ill. He's better now. Leave it alone."

"Leash your temper," Malcolm snaps.

"Leash yours!" his son shouts back at him.

"I swear to the stone I will fucking tranq you both if you start shouting," Varric growls softly, mini-B gripped tightly in one hand.

Both men turn to look at him, but it's Garrett who speaks first, in a softer tone, more gentle, like one might use with a child or a gunman. "Varric. Please put that down."

"I'm aware I have it out," Varric says in a clipped tone. "It's loaded with non-lethal."

"Dad?" asks Garrett, his tone still low but his voice hard. "Leave. I don't care where."

Mal rakes a hand through his hair, then shakes his head. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he says, and then he's heading for the backyard, out the back door, letting it swing shut behind him.

"Talk to me," says Garrett, in a low voice. "You're here. You're safe. I'm here. This is real."

Varric blinks a few times. "...Garrett, I'm not scared. I know this is real. I'm not having a panic attack," he explains, frowning. "I'm..." He hesitates, taking a moment to re-analyze his actions and reasoning. "Overreacting but more agitated and defensive than anything else. Neither of you are willing to listen, to talk, to each other."

"Not a panic attack, a flashback," he says quietly. "An emotional flashback. Something about the argument reminds you of what happened. You're overreacting, overly defensive."

_I just said that,_ Varric thinks, irritated. _Wait. Step back. Reassess_. He absently flexes his hand, the small weapon vanishing into that strange state of 'somewhere else than where anyone is looking on his body' that a skilled rogue can manage. "Reminded me..." _They're being stubborn fucks, but that shouldn't be enough for more than words (should it?) normally._

Garrett nods. "For me it's fear. As the worst of the flashbacks tapered off, I found myself being afraid for no reason— I'd fasten my seatbelt and be looking for exits. Lelldorin helped me understand my emotions were having a flashback even if my mind wasn't. Normally you'd defuse tension with a joke or something, not... not take things this seriously."

"I think I did. I mean, I think I meant that to be a joke but..." He winces a little, studying the table.

"But it wasn't. Because you're having an emotional flashback."

"Annoying."

Garrett smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yes," he agrees. "Take some deep breaths for me?"

Varric nods slightly, inhaling slowly, then exhaling. Four times he repeats this. "Sorry."

"No big deal. I'm sorry I shouted."

"You should be able to shout without me drawing a weapon," Varric says stubbornly.

"Well, 'should' doesn't matter in recovery, only 'is'. So there."

Varric gives Garrett a flat look. "Thank you Yoda." He shakes his head a little. "I handled it badly, but I had a point. About you and your dad."

"I suppose. He just— he infuriates me. Talking about me like I'm not here. Talking only to you, like you're both my parents."

"Not the kind of 'daddy' I'd prefer you thought about me," Varric agrees.

Garrett shudders. "Well, that image is never getting out of my head."

Varric pauses on that for a second. "We're not done with this, I plan on making you and Mal sit down and talk. But before he comes back, I wanted to ask your take on something." He takes a deep breath. "Brace yourself," he adds with a wince. "Family stuff."

Garrett dutifully takes a pull from his bottle of soda, putting it down a moment later, grimacing as he realizes it's not beer. "Alright."

"You remember how your dad asked me to DNA test you? To find out if you were his? Well— you are," he says abruptly, realizing how this might sound. "I didn't lie about you being Mal's son. But, uh, the twins..."

Garrett stares at him. "They're not?" he asks, his voice hesitant. "Wow. That's— I mean— wow." A moment later, he makes a disgusted face. "Oh Maker's cunt!"

"Yeah." Varric winces a little. "Not really okay with the concept of Gammy breeding. I followed up, sent it to a geneticist to do the whole works, looking for defects and the like. So far, basically clean. Some worry about AMD— causes bad eyesight, possibly blindness when they get older— and bipolar disorder, but those would have been high risk with just Leandra."

"...my mother's bipolar?"

"Have you not met her?"

"I thought she had depression and anxiety!"

"In fairness, I haven't peeked at her psych record. This is based off of laymen research and genetics based odds. Could just as easily be borderline personality disorder; my guess prior to those tests."

"The fuck is borderline personality disorder?"

Varric squints a moment as he pulls it up. "Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, poor self-control and discipline, and impaired social relationships. People with it commonly suffer from intense fear of abandonment, explosive bursts of anger, wild mood swings, impulsiveness, and a constant search for self-identity or value." He shrugs. "Leandra."

Garrett stares at Varric, slowly sinking his head into his hands.

Looking a touch bewildered, Varric orders, "say out loud whatever you're thinking."

"Varric, that's not my mother, that's _me_."

Varric shrugs a little. "And Marian. The twins. It's genetic, at least mostly. Not that unexpected that most if not all of you have it. Mal too, though muted. Then again, he's a bit, ah, altered."

Garrett is silent a moment, two. Then, in a rough voice, he says, "I can't breathe?" Almost as if he's bewildered.

" _Garrett Hawke_." The name comes out like the crack of a whip. "Attention on **me**." He snaps his gaze up to focus on Varric's cheek, hands folding in his lap, chest heaving as though he's running despite sitting very, very still. "Look at my chest," he orders. "Breath when I do. Breath with me." Eyes steady on Garrett's chest, Varric begins to breath in slow but deep, a steady, relaxing pattern.

Garrett tries, but his breathing is just a hair too fast, his muscles just a bit tight. Still, he tries his best, breathing far slower than he had been. "Good," Varric whispers on an exhale. "Good shagua." He continues to breath, slowly approaching until he can take his lover's hands.

Garrett lets out a small whimper, but his breathing continues to slow, and he grips Varric's hands, his own shaking just a bit. "Sorry," he whispers, mortified.

"I thought you realized," Varric says with faint regret and clear apology in his voice. "I would have... sorry."

"I thought I was over this," he whispers. "Dory said my mother's anxiety has nothing to do with mine, I thought I was past this. But this is a whole 'nother level. Bipolar? Borderline?"

_Dory? (Lelldorin.) Okay, sure._ "Personality Disorder," Varric fills in. "And... yes, it's related to you, in so much as you inherited some genes from her. But that's all."

"Varric.... that's the sort of thing that gets people locked up."

"Couple of things. Automatically locking up people with mental disabilities is shite that happens in movies and history books. Laws and medicine have changed a bit. Two, that's for extreme cases. Which isn't you. Lelldorin would have caught that, and brought it up by now if you were that bad off. You might have a very mild case of it, you might just have a bunch of other shite that makes it look like you have that. And finally, we're rich. Worst to worst, I have no problems with blatantly going around the system to keep you safe."

He gives a rueful smile, swallowing. "Thanks," he manages, taking a deep breath. "Don't tell them," he says abruptly. "Not until they're old enough to get married and looking serious. They will want to make sure whoever they're with isn't also Uncle's bastard."

_Not entirely sure I agree with the timing but..._ "They have a lot to deal with. And they're leaving soon. It should be done when they'll be here, with us, for longer. Okay. We should tell Mal. I should," he corrects himself.

"He'll be mad," warns Garrett.

"I hope so," Varric says bluntly. "He should be mad they were that careless. Inbreeding isn't as dangerous as TV makes it out to be but it's still a risk. Plus, you know, infidelity."

"He's going to shout again," clarifies Garrett.

"Ah. Yeah. Probably. Try not to shout back?" Varric asks, rubbing his arm. "And I'll pay more attention to— to myself."

"I'll try. I just hate to see him shout at _you_."

Varric shrugs a little, though his lips curve slightly in a smile. "Only fair I suppose," he says, giving Garrett a warm look. "Go ahead and call him in."

Garrett paces to the back door, and a moment later, Mal is hovering about the kitchen, looking much calmer, if a bit worried. "Let me apologize for losing my temper. That was unbecoming of me."

"Thank you. And I need to apologize for pulling mini-B out. I had an emotional flashback," Varric replies, glancing at Garrett. "Something else to discuss at my next therapy session."

Malcolm smiles, raking a hand through his hair. "So. What now?"

"Might want to take a seat. And brace."

Mal's face instantly loses the smile, as he sits, frowning a bit in clear worry. "Alright."

"You only asked about Garrett and Marian, but I'm extra so I did more. Carver and Beth aren't biology related to you," Varric says, hoping a direct and neutral approach will be less hurtful than dragging it out.

Malcolm is silent a moment, deep in thought. Then he puts on a rueful grin, shaking his head. "Alright. Good to know, we can use that if we need to. But it doesn't change anything."

"...that's it?" asks Garrett, blinking.

"It doesn't change anything. They're my children, both of them. I'm a better father to them than Gamlen could ever be, and that's saying a lot."

"I'm having their genetics tested, discreetly, no names and so forth, for defects or anything else they might need to know," Varric says quietly, reaching over to take Mal's hand.

Mal grips his hand, giving a nod. "Good. If you don't find anything, let's not tell them. I don't want to burden them with the questions it will arise. They have enough to worry about right now."

"They deserve to know," Varric says evenly, then holds up his other hand. "Not now, that's fair. They're heading back soon and they should have time with family to deal with this. But on their next break maybe."

"The summer after graduation?" offers Malcolm.

Varric purses his lips. "I'm real worried that... Well, let's be honest. This is _entirely_ the sort of secret that comes out at the worst possible time. And the longer we hold off, the better the odds this will bite us all on the ass."

Malcolm nods, slowly. "Alright. We'll see where they're at next summer."

"Good," Varric says with a slow breath. "Good." _And speaking of things kept secret..._ /Cole, you still around?/

/Yes./

/Come join us. Visibly./ "Figure I should also introduce you to, ah, to a friend of mine. One of my agents, another rescue from Revelations."

As Cole walks into the room, Mal turns to smile at him; Garrett does not, and Cole stops dead in his tracks, staring at Mal. "You can see me?"

"Hello," says Mal, frowning a little. "What's your name?"

"Cole," he says, after a moment, still in the doorway.

"Garret, can you see Cole?" Varric asks slowly, brow furrowed.

"Who?" replies Garrett.

"He can't see me," says Cole. "You can see me because of your implants. And his twin could see me. And now he can see me. I don't understand. There was a Templar that could see me and I got hurt. Is he going to hurt me?"

"I'm not going to hurt you," says Mal gently.

_Marian and Mal? Mages? No. Not bloodline either. Something more_. "Describe the Templar who saw you," Varric asks thoughtfully.

"I— he was a Templar. He had a shortsword. Red hair. A goatee."

"Anything about him stand out? Abilities or actions taken?"

"He _stabbed_ me," says Cole, plaintively.

"Presumably Marian and Mal haven't stabbed you so I doubt that's it," Varric says with a half smile. /There are both good people. Some of the best I know. If you're still looking to understand what good people are like, learning about them is a good step. If anything ever happens to me, that you can't come to me, either of them can be trusted./

Cole turns to stare at him, his face blank. A moment later, he sends, /Can I make him forget me now?/

/Why the hurry?/

/I don't like being seen. It's uncomfortable./

/Physically or emotionally? By me as well?/ Out loud, he asks, "anyone for something to drink?"

"I'll grab drinks, what do you want?" asks Garrett.

/You make me feel more real. I need to feel real. But other people are unnecessary. It's unnerving./

"I got it," says Mal, blinking a little as he stands. "Coke?"

_Some sort of side effect from the network aspect of his implants?_ "Same." Varric frowns slightly. /Alright. Say goodbye first. It's polite./

"Goodbye," says Cole, before vanishing— to both Mal and Varric. Varric at least recalls he was there a moment ago, while Malcolm just looks confused for a moment, then smiles.

/Better?/ _Wherever he is, he's still within network range_. "So... Mal, am I remembering correctly about a certain kind of interaction between you and Marian's new horned friend?"

"You are; he's one hell of a man, let me tell you that," Mal jokes.

/Better,/ replies Cole. /Thank you, Zhuji san./

/Varric, remember?/ Varric shakes his head a little, amused. "More detail than required. Guess I was misreading how close he and Marian were then. Or at least why."

Mal's smile fades. "You don't think...? No, wait— she's a lesbian, remember?"

"Romantically, yes, but she's bisexual," Varric corrects Mal, then shrugs with a look of faint look of regret. "I, uh, my social implants have less respect for privacy than I do. They're designed to navigate social encounters, not have ethics."

"Well, sure, but I didn't think she was one for casual sex." A pause. "She wasn't when she called you, for certain."

"She's also really cozy with the elf doctor, Merr... Merrill Seabrea I think?" Varric shrugs. "Anyway."

"Dr Merrill Sabrae," corrects Mal. "I uh. I learned their names. All the mages that were meant to have been... well anyway."

"Sabrae," Varric repeats. /There's still some taco meat if you want to try some. Or wait, you don't like meat so much. Salsa and lettuce on a tortilla?/ _Did he leave already?_

/Acceptable./ If Cole is still around, Varric can't find any sign of him.

"I... _may_ have threatened the viscount," Mal admits.

"Welcome to the dark side?" Varric shrugs, having no ethical issue with such a thing. "Did he notice?"

"He threatened to have me arrested. Tried to have my friend fired. It's going to be trouble, sooner or later."

Varric blinks a few times. "Oh. You mean directly and verbally threatened him to his face. Huh. Ballsy."

"Lost my temper a smidge. Played it off well, but he won't be a fan of me anymore. Seems I'm burning bridges rapidly in this town. But I'll get my divorce, maybe."

"If it helps, I've been chipping away at him as well. So you're not alone by any measure. Fuck, I just wish I had another horse to back against him but the only other two families with the wealth and name or connections enough to do it are even worse than that little shite."

"You could go against him," suggests Malcolm.

"I just said I was?" Varric replies, taking his drink from Garrett as he returns.

"No, I mean, run for election against the viscount."

"What."

"You could do it," adds Garrett, taking a seat.

"Clearly, the current Viscount is a fucking brain damaged toady, but still, _what_?"

"Is that something you'd want?" asks Garrett, frowning slightly.

"Of course not! I've never wanted p— okay, I've pretty much always wanted power and control, yes. But I'm no pol— okay, I was trained to run a Clan as a child, one nearly as big as all of Kirkwall. But I'm not, uh, popular enough?" Varric winces. _Wow. Great excuse._

"But would you _want_ it?" asks Garrett again. "I can run StoneSure, if you train me up. Doing it would give you a level of power and control you've never had— over the whole city. And it'd be a great excuse not to go back to China— you can't, you're running Kirkwall. And you could really stick it to the Templar. But none of that means a thing if you don't want to do it."

"Mal," Varric falters a moment, then rallies. "This is insane, right? I mean..."

"It's not, not really," says Mal, shaking his head a bit. "You could do it. And the Viscount needs to go."

"Viscount," Varric says slowly. _Garrett's right. I have the skills and ability. Sure as shite better than the current ass in the seat. But... Step back from StoneSure?_ "I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask." Garrett smiles at Varric, raking a hand through his hair in a gesture not unlike his father's.

Varric smiles back. _Viscount. Stone cracks, what else could change in less than a year?_


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intervention has turned into a weekend, and the twins are almost ready to go back to school. Varric owes his kin explanations for vanishing like that, and Marian owes her siblings one last goodbye party before the school year starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD flashback, religious abuse

Having put Garen off longer than he should already, Varric forces himself to set up a meeting with his nephew the following day. He rents out a Shirén teahouse, a small but well-run one that he's not been to but has a good reputation, in order to give them both equal footing. As noon approaches, Varric closes his eyes and reaches for Garrett's hand under the table. _Nice place really. None of that fake gold and bright red faux-silk shite (somber greens and dark woods, much more soothing) that Western Shirén places have vomited all over._

/You doing alright?/ he asks Garrett using the earpiece he'd arranged for the mage to have. Wanting to be sure Garrett can follow along if Garen slips into Mandarin again, Varric plans to send a split-second delay translation through the earpiece. And of course, this also allows him to 'whisper' in Garrett's ear discreetly. _Which could be fun for other things at some point._

"Yeah," says Garrett low and soft. "You?"

Varric shrugs a little. /Want this over with. Still not entirely sure this is a good plan./

"I know," he replies quietly, seeing Garen coming toward them. "But you'll do fine."

Varric squeezes his lover's hand, then focuses on Garen. "Well met, nephew. My apologizes for the longer than expected delay in this meeting. Events have been... insistent."

Garen pauses to bow before sitting at the low table. "Well met. Allowances can be made for... unexpected outcomes."

/Remember, slow and steady, just as we practiced./ With that bit of reassurance, the pair begin to pour tea and serve the small rice cakes and candied fruit. Varric is the one that pours everything, serves everything, but Garrett hand him everything without fail. It's a subtle thing, but Varric is certain that Garen will realize that the other Shirén is establishing Garrett as his second. Or his spouse, but it's less likely Garen will assume that reasoning. "Unexpected is a mild word," he murmurs as he works. "It seems a dark ghost from the past was displeased by the dust your visit and my resulting questions stirred up."

"Ghosts can be difficult that way," agrees Garen. "Is this ghost one I should know of?"

"That depends on what your views on ghosts are," Varric says carefully. "Some ghosts can be very tempting. They take their pound of flesh and strips of your soul, but there are those that would count those cheap for some bauble or advantage."

"It all depends on the outcome," agrees Garen. "For the prosperity of my Clan, a pound of flesh may be cheap. For my honor, perhaps an even trade. For a few shiny jewels, it is expensive."

"And if the ghost has already proven itself to be... Untrustworthy? To Clan Tethras specifically."

"Then soon no longer will even memories remain," he replies in Mandarin.

"One might hope, but ghosts can be annoyingly hard to pin down," Varric cautions his nephew. "And of course, there is the complication of that which this ghost has stolen. Those that must be recovered before all is dust."

"Those?" he asks, this time in English. "Not the things?"

"Not stolen _things_ , no," Varric confirms softly. "Some have... unstolen themselves already, but others still remain."

Something eager comes into Garen's eyes. "Perhaps one of those the Clan has misplaced?"

"I can't be _sure_ ," Varric hedges. "I came across some..." He pauses, frowning. "Misdirected communication during my recent altercation with this ghost that might indicate that another was not so lucky as to be able to unsteal themselves. But they are still alive, if... damaged."

"And you come to me for assistance from Clan Tethras." Garen clicks his teeth a little, clearly deep in thought.

"Ghosts are best hunted with as many hunters as possible. Properly motivated ones of course."

"Very well. I will speak to our cousin. But you'll need firmer proof than you've given me."

Varric swallows, hand trembling under the table. It stills, tension not vanishing but fading, when Garrett rests his own hand atop it. "My... data logs of that— that incident are incomplete. Damaged. But I will put together what I can and have it couriered to you."

"You have my thanks, uncle."

* * *

Marian has to tear her attention from Fluffy, who is currently giving the twins and Merrill a ride around the yard, back to Bull. "I'm having someone from the zoo come out to look him over tomorrow," she continues, shaking her head a bit. "And we've got instructions on how to build a coop we think will help the raptors. So that's sorted. I'll have plenty to keep me busy while you're in Florida."

Bull snorts, shaking his head as he watches the show as well. _Looks almost as silly as watching the poor thing squeeze his way out of the mirror._ "Uncle Dude is a scary guy. Who the fuck can find a reptile doctor with a dinosaur obsession in less than a week?"

"I find comfort in the fact he's on our side," admits Marian. "And that he's rich enough to bribe the guy into silence. Poor Fluffs."

"Hopefully the guy can figure out a better diet for him. Pig sized turds are bad enough when they're solid," the merc says with a shudder. "Looks pretty happy right now though. Swear he likes giving people rides." He pauses. "How big is he going to get again?"

"Nine meters long, three meters high," Marian rattles off, clearly having looked it up recently.

Bull whistles. "Weight?"

"Ten tonnes or so."

"Damnnnnnn. I wonder if he could be trained to wear armor," Bull says with a gleam in his eyes. "Fucking tank he is."

"You know," Marian chuckles. "That's not—" She pauses, then, hearing a car pull up to the front. "Dad's inside with Garrett," she says quietly, her tone suddenly all business. "We expecting anyone else?"

"Maybe that tall redhead?" Bull offers. "The cop lady that your dad is working with? Thought she drove a truck but— awww fuck." Moving quickly, Bull whips out his phone and starts texting.

Dressed to the nines in a salmon colored sundress and bonnet, Leandra almost marches towards Marian with a look of focused determination in her eyes. Behind her, an older man in a Chantry suit follows at a slower pace. He's holding a book in one hand, a Sunburst scepter in the other and has a carry bag over his shoulder. "Marian! Oh baby girl, it's so good to see you!" For some reason, neither of the two newcomers react to the giant creature in plain view.

Marian takes half a step back before she plasters on a smile. "Mother! What a... surprise," she adds, not quite managing to say it's pleasant.

"I suppose it must be, given that I was accidentally left off the invite list to the twin's going away party," Leandra replies with unforced hurt in her voice. Nevertheless, she continues to move towards Marian, arms raising for a hug.

Marian takes another step back, keeping her arms lowered. "This isn't really a party, it just sort of happened."

"Oh I see. Because elephant rides just _happen_ ," Leandra snaps, the look of hurt increasing.

Coughing, Bull steps forward. "Blame Uncle Dude. Err, Varric that is. He's really extra." _Damn, since when is Dalish that good? Or did Daisy do it?_

Marian nods, half tucking behind Bull. _Please don't hug me_. "Did you want something?"

"I want to see my children, to say goodbye to them," Leandra replies, finally dropping her arms. Behind her, the priest comes to a stop and studies Marian with narrowed eyes.

"Fine, I'm sure they'll be glad to see you," says Marian, her voice weary.

"You're my children too," Leandra says gently, reaching out to touch Marian's arm. "I assumed you— are you staying in Kirkwall?" A light of hope appears in her eyes.

"...for now," she agrees, her tone softening a little as well. _She's not buying what Grandfather says, about my being a fake?_

The man besides Leandra clears her throat, causing her to start. "Oh, my manners! Marian, you remember Father Winston, I'm sure?"

"Sure," she says, eyeing the man suspiciously. "From First Church of Kirkwall."

"Indeed," the man says coolly. Without any warning, he stabs at Marian with the scepter, only for The Iron Bull to rip it out of his hand.

"You're gonna want to explain that," the very, very tall male rumbles, eyes glowing the rusty red of a berserker.

Paling and stepping back, the priest starts to stammer something only to yelp with Leandra smacks his arm. "That's not what I asked you to do!" she shrieks at him, smacking him again.

Marian slips entirely behind the beefy Qunari, panting for breath, trying to stop her hands from shaking. _It's not her it's not her it's not her (breathe)._

Hitting the priest one last time, Leandra glares at him. "I asked Father Winston to come and test you, to prove to Daddy that you're my daughter. I didn't ask you to _stab_ her!"

The glow dims but doesn't fade as Bull slowly bends the scepter in half with one hand, the gold and tin alloy unable to stand up to his augmented strength. He doesn't shift his gaze on the priest for a second.

"I-i-i—" stammers Marian, swallowing hard. "I'll do wh-whatever he asks. J-just w-warn me?"

Leandra beams at her daughter. "See? No demon would agree to be tested," she declares, clearly assuming her victory already.

"We shall see," Winston says, torn between fury at Bull destroying a six thousand dollar holy icon and terrified at the same thing.

"Yes, well, I was _attempting_ to perform the first test when your horned devil—" He falters when Bull growls softly at him. "Ah, that is, when... he... stopped me. Touching a consecrated item in the hands of the faithful."

Marian holds out a quivering hand, letting Bull put the wreckage into it.

"It'll hardly work now," Winston snaps.

Bull snorts, tossing the twisted rod at the priest. "Pretty weak icon if a little bend causes it to fail."

_Marian?_ Tanna's voice is soft, careful. _I wasn't paying attention, what's going on? You're scared._

_They want to prove I'm human_ , says Marian back, silently. _They want me to prove I'm me. Another damn priest._

_But... we're not human? We're Evanuris. Bonded._

_Can they tell? Make me as human as you can,_ she instructs.

Leandra frowns. "Well, you shouldn't have tried to poke her without explaining," she scolds him. "What else?"

Father Winston scowls again, but nods. "Very well." Opening the book, he clears his throat. "The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil, and grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born."

_Maybe? But not by reading poetry,_ Tanna replies with bemusement. _I'll try and mask as much as I can, then I'll shrink. Think my name really loudly if you need me._

_it's not poetry, it's— nevermind. Thanks. I owe you one._ Marian closes her eyes, listening intently to the Word of Andraste.

He finishes three more verses, then scowls. "Very well. Continue," he orders Marian.

Marian sighs. _I hate this book._ "Lady of Perpetual Victory, your praises I sing! Gladly do I accept the gift invaluable of your glory! Let me be the vessel which bears the Light of your promise to the world expectant."

He makes her recite two more verses before cutting her off with a gesture. "Very well. Next, you will drink this," he orders her, pulling a bottle and small silver cup from his bag.

"You first," Bull says bluntly.

Winston falters, looking confused. Then offended. "This is blessed wine, the blood of Andraste herself! To befoul it would be a sin!"

"Orally or rectally, your pick."

Paling, Winston swallows convulsively. "I— that is—" He swallows again, then jerks his head up and down. "Very well." Hands trembling a little, he pours himself a half cup of the wine, then drinks it before refilling it.

Marian watches him carefully for a moment, then takes the wine, drinking it quickly. _They always use the cheap shit._

Winston peers at her intently, then harrumphs when nothing happens. "Now eat this and give thanks to the Maker and his Bride ten times." He starts to hand her a wafer, flinches at Bull's look, eats it himself and then offers her another one.

She takes one, eating it and crossing herself for good measure. "I give thanks to the Maker and his Bride Andraste, may I be taken into the Golden City. I give thanks..."

As she continues, Winston's scowl deepens— and so does Leandra's frown. "Why are you unhappy?" she snaps at the priest. "Shouldn't you be pleased that one of the Maker's children is being proven pure and faithful?"

"Yes, of course, I am simply— concentrating. Focused. Forgive me, this is a taxing process," Winston says hurriedly, not wanting to be subject to another slapping. "Two more tests, as I suspect you will not submit to a Harrowing?"

"Not unless Bull can take it with me," she quips. "I'm not feeling particularly fond of the Chantry right now. What's next?"

_The fuck is a Harrowing?_ Bull doesn't ask, just bares his teeth a little. Winston nods jerkily and clears his throat. "Very well. Wrap these around your hands and kneel," he orders her, handing her a rosary. "I will then douse you with holy water and pray."

Marian sighs, taking the rosaries and dropping to her knees. Instantly, her gut churns, but she forces herself calm, forces herself to trust that Bull has this under control.

There's a clicking sound from behind her and Leandra squeaks. "Is the gun really—"

"Last Chantry fucker that made her kneel tried to kill and rape her," Bull rumbles softly. "So yes. It's necessary."

Marian smiles, her shoulders easing. _Maker's grace, I'm going to miss him._

"I am a Father of the—"

"Qunari. Don't give a fuck."

Gaping like a fish for a moment, Winston spend a moment to collect himself. "I— Heathen," he hisses at him before turning his gaze on the foe he feels like he can threaten. "You who kneel before me! By the Maker's command, declare your true name!"

"I am Marian " _motherfucking_ "Hawke " _lesbian_ "Amell, trueborn daughter of Malcolm " _the coward_ "Hawke and Leandra " _the neurotic_ "Amell."

"Declare your faith!"

"I was born and raised Catholic."

He eyes gleam with the scent of weakness. "Declare your faith!" he demands again. "Declare your obedience to the Maker and His Bride!"

"I obey the Maker and his Bride!" Marian squeaks. _Do I? But I'm filthy. Weak._

"See?" Leandra declares. "She's my daughter. Just— different is all."

"A final test," Winston snaps. Annoyed and frustrated, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a slim silver dagger. A second later, Leandra is screaming, Merrill has teleported in front of Marian with a Barrier in place and Winston is laid out on the ground with six less teeth than he arrived with. Bull slowly turns his head to look at Leandra. "Shush," he says softly, eyes blazing again. Leandra goes utterly quiet.

Marian swallows, then swallows again. "I think the tests are over," she croaks.

"Yes they are," Merrill agrees, not sure what's going on and not caring either. Reaching down, she grips Marian's shoulder and teleports them inside the beach house. She can't reach their bedroom from the front yard, but she gets them fairly close. "Come on," she coaxes Marian. "Let's go lay down."

"Shit," she whispers. _Tanna!_ "Mom's gonna be furious." There's a faint stirring in the depths of Marian's mind, a sense of questioning.

"Not important right now," Merrill says firmly. "We can handle that later if we have to. Come on, please?"

_Yes, Tanna, I need you, please come back_. Marian nods, clinging to Merrill's arm as they make their way to the bedroom.

_My L- Bonded? What is wrong?_ Tanna gasps softly. _You're terrified! Your heart weeps with shame and pain!_

_Sorry,_ she replies. _They— I— they questioned me on my knees, I needed, I had a bit of a flashback, I just need— I just need a few minutes._

A warm, gentle wave of loving support washes over Marian. _What can I do to help?_

_That_ , she says, letting out the breath she wasn't aware she was holding. _That helps, a lot._

Merrill helps Marian into the bed, then hesitates. "Do you want to cuddle or have space or... A shower maybe?"

Marian catches her hand, tugging her toward the bed. "Stay. Please."

"Okay," Merrill whispers, eyes warm and worried. "Not about to turn down cuddles," she says lightly, trying some humor.

_Would you like some music? I know scores of lullabies that I think you'd find very pleasing_ , Tanna offers.

Marian hands Tanna a thread of magic. _Can you play it so Merrill can hear too?_

_Mmmh!_ The small mote of magic appears above the bed. But instead of her normal steady, pale blue spark, it's a wisp of multicolored light. After a moment, it curls in on itself as the soft sound of music fills the room. It's a dragon lullaby, of course, comprised of soft purring growls, soothing trills and a bass rumbling that sounds a mix of thunder and heartbeat. After a few moments, a few string instruments join what must be the vocals. Despite the alien nature of the sounds, the combination is comforting yet powerful in a way that reminds Marian of The Iron Bull's hug. Marian's eyes drift closed, as she lets the comfort of her girlfriend's arms, her Bonded's song, and her own strength soothe her to sleep.


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: drug use

Knight-Commander Meredith hadn't been kept in a dingy cell or in chains; she'd been held, as was the custom for one of her rank, in comfortable quarters, including a lovely bathtub with various essential oils and a soft bed with high thread-count sheets. Still, she has to hold her rage in as she stalks across the marble floor to kneel before the man at the far end of the chamber. She knows if it comes to it, she could overpower the guards at her sides; they hadn't called in Knights Divine to guard her, or even Grey Warden trained Templar, only Knight Captains. It's almost insulting. Her lip curls against her will, but she forces it back down as she kneels, bowing her head.

"Knight-Vigilant."

"Knight-Commander." Trentwatch's voice is a low rumble of authority; with a wave of his hand, he dismisses the guards, leaving the two alone in the room in their armor and ceremonial capes. "You've been sloppy," he chides her, and she swallows back a retort.

"I have only served as best I could."

"Then you must be better," he snaps, a flash of temper flaring up. He soothes it, resuming the neutral expression as he reaches to one side, lifting a small ornate box and presenting it to her. "This will help."

She knows as soon as she touches it that the box contains lyrium. But there's something different about the song, about the call; it's more seductive, more enticing than any she's heard before. She flips open the latch, revealing a brilliant ruby glow. The lyrium is still in crystalline form, ready to be shaved so it will dissolve into the saline-vitamin solution modern day Templar use for their injections. Rather than the few doses that she had assumed the box contained, this would be enough solid rock for hundreds of doses, enough to last her a decade or so.

Or enough to share with her men.

"This is more potent than the traditional form you're used to," Trentwatch warns, scrutinizing her face. "You and your men will be more powerful for taking it, but be sure to take it regularly. Missing a dose can be nasty."

"Thank you, Knight Vigilant. I will put this to good use." She should care, should wonder, why this is different. Where it came from, why it's being offered to her so secretively. But she doesn't.

"See that you do."

Garrett, Varric, Marian, and Merrill will return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the next book in the series, Wherever You Are! This one belongs to Carver, focusing on his high school shenanigans. We'll be back with the main group in the book after that one, so stay tuned! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563515/chapters/67419928


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